


Heartbloom (playlist-inspired ficlets)

by beautifulterriblequeen



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Blue Moon Festival, Buried Alive, Canon Compliant, Coping, Do it for him, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Happy, Kinda, Light Bondage, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Moondance, Pre-Canon, Prince Runaan AU, Runaan and Ethari have little talks, Runaan's first time gives him feels, Runaan's got it bad, Sad, Secret Boyfriend, Strangling, Suicidal Thoughts, Yearning, all that's left is a ghost of you, death and love all over the place, gay elves, gift giving gone wrong and right, imagined wounds, it's like ghosting but not, it's not just a dance wink wink, psychological effects of horniness, romantic, self-care, soft, soft Runaan, soft idiots, the whole village knows but not the king, yes it's a dangling tent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulterriblequeen/pseuds/beautifulterriblequeen
Summary: Ficlets inspired by the songs Devon Giehl used to create her heartbloom [Runaan/Ethari] playlist on Spotify. In no particular order.https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5B88mJ4zBcpLC82HUKtZKA
Relationships: Ethari & Rayla (The Dragon Prince), Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince), Runaan & his dad
Comments: 74
Kudos: 170





	1. i love it when you give me things (and you ought to give me wedding rings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "The Book of Love" by The Magnetic Fields
> 
> Runaan's not really the romantic type. But one very ordinary day, he realizes that he wants to belong to someone, and that someone is Ethari.

Runaan padded up the steps from Ethari’s kitchen with a bowl of moonberries in one hand. His fresh shirt and trousers had come from his drawer in Ethari’s bedroom, and his hair hung damp down his back. The cool wooden stairs, worn from centuries of use, rasped against his bare soles as he stole through the shadows. Up around the curve, he heard humming coming from the den as Ethari found something to busy his hands. Outside the trailing curtain of glossy green and purple leaves that sheltered the room’s entrance, Runaan paused and smiled. Even without stepping inside, he could picture Ethari clearly in every detail, from his shaggy short hair to his narrow worksleeves to his long legs, bent to support his elbows as he leaned forward and stared way too closely at some bit of jewelry or another.

Why did that thought fill Runaan’s chest with such warmth? Ethari was just sitting and tinkering. It was nothing special.

It was perfectly ordinary.

And why did that realization make his heart even lighter?

Runaan swept aside the leafy curtain and stepped inside. Ethari was perched exactly as Runaan knew he’d be: sitting forward on the edge of the overstuffed blue sofa and working some silver wire in intricate swirlies around a tiny bit of blue crystal.

Ethari’s face lit up when Runaan stepped inside. “Hi! Done training already?” He patted the empty spot beside him, but Runaan was already angling for his usual spot.

Runaan settled sideways on the sofa, and Ethari lifted his arms automatically for Runaan to slide his legs across his lap.

“Pirra’s brother’s Shadowpaw decided that today’s the day,” Runaan said. “She went to help with the newborn kits as soon as her nephew came to the arena, and that set everyone else atwitter.”

“‘Atwitter,’ huh? Sounds serious.” A smile crept around the edge of Ethari’s lips as he returned to his prettywork.

Runaan smothered a grin at his gentle teasing over word choice. “You’d think professional assassins would be more composed at the news that somewhere in the village, a Shadowpaw was performing a perfectly natural biological function.”

“Mmm. You’d be wrong, though. No one can resist the overwhelming cuteness of newborn Shadowpaw kits.”

Runaan picked a moonberry from his bowl and studied it accusingly. “Apparently not, no.” He popped it in his mouth and rubbed the edge of one foot against Ethari’s thigh.

Ethari smiled down at Runaan’s subtle cue. “Yes, my barefoot love, I _did_ notice that you helped yourself to my shower again,” Ethari said lightly. “You could’ve fetched me. I’d have been happy to help you with all that hair.”

Runaan chuckled and shook his head. “Maybe next time.”

Ethari set down his tool and caressed Runaan’s calf. “You can teach me again which hair product comes first. I never can remember.”

Runaan pressed his ankle against Ethari’s stomach. “Something tells me you don’t want to,” he teased.

Ethari’s smile shone through his words. “I just need more practice.”

“That part is true.” Runaan crossed his ankles and leaned back, and Ethari gave Runaan’s thigh a light smack for his sass.

Runaan grinned and held out a berry for Ethari to see, and when the craftsman parted his lips, Runaan tossed it lightly.

Ethari caught it easily in his mouth—a skill Runaan had patiently taught him months ago, which had turned into a silly habit whenever Runaan came over to relax in the evenings—and hummed appreciatively around its sweetness.

A silly habit that served no tactical or social purpose, except that it made Ethari happy.

That happy hum pleased Runaan more than a little. It was nothing special, a tiny show of appreciation. But it made Runaan’s heart lift from its cradle and hover like a tethered balloon.

Runaan sat on Ethari’s blue sofa and studied his feet, at home across Ethari’s lap. As if they belonged there.

As if Runaan belonged _here_.

He felt the room expand as if it held far more time than it should, as if it were crowded with a thousand memories, of all the times Ethari had smiled at him, of Runaan’s churning but eager heart, of their whispered secrets and interlaced fingers.

Those first few weeks had been exasperating torture, when Runaan had no idea what he was doing and Ethari had the patience of the Moon itself. Every word out of Runaan’s mouth was chosen with so much care he’d lost sleep over simple sentences. His own, in preparation. Ethari’s, in review. Runaan had taken himself to the library when he decided to attempt to court Ethari, wanting to make sure he knew every tiny loophole and exception in the Moonshadow Courtship Rituals, just in case. All it had resulted in was overthinking and unnecessary doubts.

Ethari hadn’t cared what the books said. He’d had eyes only for Runaan. Eyes, words, and _finally_ , kisses. And he’d known what it had taken Runaan far too long to understand—love was never what the books said it was. Love was soft dances in the moonlight. Love was Ethari humming softly while he worked because Runaan had commented _once_ , months ago, that he liked it. Love was trusting his life—and his honor, his service—to Ethari’s craftsmanship without thinking twice.

And now Runaan had a place on Ethari’s sofa. He had a drawer. He had shampoo in Ethari’s shower. They had routines. Habits. Familiar patterns.

Runaan’s eyes widened as he watched Ethari’s hands moving over his prettywork. He’d read every courtship book in the library from cover to cover. None of them had mentioned anything about creating your own dance, with its own unique steps.

A dance of bare feet and tossed moonberries and welcoming humming and gentle teasing and familiar touching. A dance of habits and permissions and allowances and making room for each other so they’d fit together more perfectly at the edges.

“You alright there, Runaan?” Ethari asked without looking over. He squeezed Runaan’s ankle gently. “You’ve tensed up.”

Runaan’s mouth went dry. _I want to belong to you_. “I like your shower.”

“Nice that it’s tall enough for you, huh?”

“And… your humming.”

“Yes? Any particular tune you want?”

“No… no, it’s just… nice.”

“Hmm.”

“And you know I appreciate—deeply value—your craftsmanship. I trust you with my life.”

At that, Ethari frowned and glanced over, giving Runaan his full attention. He rested one arm atop Runaan’s shin, fingers cupping the side of his knee. “I take that trust more seriously than anything, Runaan.”

Runaan nodded sharply. They’d had this part of the conversation before, several times. But today, it was just one more step in the staircase. “And...”

Ethari leaned back and studied him as he fumbled for what to say next, keeping a comforting hand on his leg.

Runaan licked his lips and studied the moonberries in his bowl. Then he met Ethari’s eyes again. “You’re patient. With me. I’m… not easy to get along with. I don’t always say the right things. Some days I’m still not sure why you put up with me, but… I’m glad you do. And…”

Moon have mercy, he was on a roll, spilling thoughts right off his tongue like a waterfall in full spring melt. But in that moment, Ethari was exactly as Runaan had just described him: patient. He simply waited, wearing a half-smile, for Runaan to go on.

“…And you’re generous. You give me so much. Hair cuffs… my bowblade… a drawer in your bedroom… your time… your bed. You _see_ me. My whole career is about being unseen. But you, Ethari… you _see_ me. You found me even when I was invisible, and you keep proving that you can see me by handing me things. You found me, and you make sure I never feel unseen. And being seen by you… it makes me feel…” Runaan took a breath and tried again. “I feel your love like a radiant moon, no matter where I am.”

At that, Ethari’s dark brows lifted softly, and a lopsided smile tugged at his lips.

Runaan had said something right. His chest fluttered at that look of soft surprise on Ethari’s face. He took a steadying breath. “I _want_ you to see me, Ethari. Every day. Every night. Every morning. I want you to keep giving me things for the rest of my life. And…”

_Deep breath._

“I hope you’ll consider starting with a pair of horn cuffs.”

Ethari’s mouth dropped open. And stayed open.

“I—I’d be proud to wear your handiwork for everyone to see. I want to belong to you, Ethari. I want you to belong to me.”

“Runaan…” Ethari sprang at him and enveloped him in a massive hug, laughing in sheer delight. Runaan let out a tiny yelp and dropped the moonberry bowl as Ethari toppled backward across the sofa, pulling Runaan down on top of him. He cupped Runaan’s face and kissed him hard through giggles and gasps. When he finally let Runaan catch his breath, Runaan saw happy tears streaking down over Ethari’s temples.

With a tentative finger, he brushed one of them away. “Is that a yes?”

Ethari’s eyes glowed up at him. Runaan had said something right again. “Yes, Runaan. It’s a yes. Let’s belong together.”


	2. but if the silence takes you (then I hope it takes me too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Soul Meets Body" by Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> Ethari ghosts Rayla along with the rest of the village, and then he tries to fall apart. But the Silvergrove villagers catch him and hold him together.
> 
> This is for my friends, and anyone, who's struggling. You're not alone.
> 
> cw: suicidal thoughts

_And reach, and turn…_

Ethari’s chest was burning.

_Step, step, point toes…_

He dared not breathe yet.

_Reach, then reach again…_

Not yet, not until the…

 _Bow_.

The cool late-morning light that paired with the setting Moon diffused through the Silvergrove’s protective spells and dappled the village green. Ethari wheezed and gulped in a big cool breath, followed by two more deep gasps. Cold tingles chased the dizzying hot pain away and left him euphoric.

How _dare_ he feel euphoric at a time like this. Runaan was _gone_ , and it was Rayla’s fault.

It was it was it _was_.

Because it couldn’t be his own fault.

Couldn’t be.

One of them had killed Runaan. One of them was guilty. And Ethari couldn’t bear the thought that it was him.

The moonset dance was done. The ghosting spell flared and wafted away from the clustered villagers. Ethari, along one edge of the gathering, jerked upright and staggered away, biting one finger of his fist. He barely made it behind a broad-trunked evergreen tree before his stomach lost its contents.

Frenetic flashes spangled his vision as he doubled over. He lost his balance and stumbled to his hands and knees, retching again. Hot tears poured down his cheeks, and he arched into a silent scream. Silent only because his throat had sealed itself shut so he could turn his guts inside out.

His lungs howled for air, and he coughed hard to break the gagging’s hold on him. Sucking more cool air forced a bitter acid stench through his nose. Ethari spat, keened, opened his eyes and saw the mess he’d made, closed them tight again.

“R-Runaan, don’t be gone… I-I can’t _do_ this without…” His whispered begging cut off as he vomited again. His fingers curled into the fine needles that blanketed the ground beneath the tree, snapping them like the bones of a tiny helpless creature.

Had Runaan died broken? Had his body snapped like that, under the humans’ tortures? One bone after another, helpless in their grip?

A flash of white rage flared, wiping out all memory, all sensation.

When Ethari could see again, his hands were fists. Runaan believed in balancing death with death.

_Maybe he’s right._

Ethari flinched at the horrific thought of putting his hands on Rayla in violence. He shoved himself back into a kneeling position, staring at his hands. They smelled of sweet sap and bitter vomit. His fingers began to shake as he realized what he’d just done. His stomach roiled angrily.

He pressed his fists loosely against bitter, wet lips and heaved a moan through his fingers. _Moon help me, never that. Never that._

But it _hurt. Everything_ hurt. Every iota of his being was screaming—hot, wretched, and too, too _conscious_.

_I want to turn it off. How do I turn it off?_

_Maybe if I stop—_

“Oh… Ethari?”

Reality slammed back in around him with a nauseating jerk. Ethari froze, fists against his mouth, knees in the dirt, tears on his swollen cheeks.

“Dear boy. Oh, my dear boy.” A soft hand brushed his shoulder. Then another on his opposite arm. A third against his back, and then he was surrounded.

Widows and widowers. The soft look in their eyes said it all. Their hands pressed, holding Ethari in place, pushing the fragments of him back toward the center from which he was exploding.

Henlin knelt beside him first, his long legs folding like a stork’s. Then Yarrah on his other side, with her flyaway braids full of pewter beadwork. Old Breghan dropped a knee right in the puddle of vomit and pretended not to notice. His old hands, wiry and spotted, cupped Ethari’s and held them tightly together, and then those ancient silvery eyes met Ethari’s. His halo of radiant white hair bobbed as he nodded. Short, brisk, understanding. He’d lost his husband to a mission, too, before Ethari was even born.

A lifetime yet to live. A lifetime without Runaan…

_It’s too long. I don’t want another breath without him!_

Ethari came undone.

His shoulders shook like a landslide, and his keening cry ripped open into a broken sob. The hands pressed harder, forcing him to feel them, to acknowledge.

He felt like he was dying. He wished he _could_. But he wasn’t dying alone. Breghan clasped one of Ethari’s wrists, cupped the back of Ethari’s neck with his other hand, and leaned their foreheads together. Henlin and Yarrah wrapped their slender arms around Ethari’s shoulders and squeezed. Other hands soothed across his back.

“One breath, lad,” Breghan murmured.

Ethari shuddered through his next heaving cry.

“There ye go. Now another.”

Ethari caught himself, tried to find the edges of his grief. He couldn’t. But his next breath was a little less chaotic.

“Good.” A squeeze against the back of Ethari’s neck. “One more.”

A trembling breath, full of breathless hitches.

“Good,” Breghan murmured. “Good lad.”

Ethari shook his head, rolling it against Breghan’s forehead. His tears still fell.

“Are ye disagreeing wi’ me?” Breghan asked mildly.

Ethari shook his head again.

“My husband use’ta disagree wi’ me, sometimes,” the old elf continued. He settled back on his heels and patted Ethari’s tear-stained cheek with a dry palm. “See, Ethari, I still remember. And ye will, too. Taiza will always be wi’ me. And Runaan will always be wi’ _ye_. Ye knew each other f’ many years, lad. Ye know what he’ll say and do. So. Talk to ‘im, and feel ‘im wi’ ye. Because ‘e is. As long as ye love ‘im, he’ll stay wi’ ye.”

Ethari didn’t follow. His brows pulled tight with pained confusion.

“I’ll come show ye how it goes, shall I?” Breghan offered. “On one verra firm condition.”

“Wh… what’s that?” Ethari whispered.

“All yer foine work there on the walls, Ethari… You leave it be.”

Ethari blinked, lost.

Breghan dipped his chin. His silvery eyes flinted, and his fluffy white halo of hair rose behind him like wild dandelion fluff. “I’ll come t’ call tomorra mornin’. And you’d best be waitin’ wi’ a nice hot cuppa.” His hands found Ethari’s, and he gave them a gentle squeeze. “Leave yer work on the walls.”

The house. Ethari had forgotten he had a house. That he’d have to go back to it, alone. No Runaan. And no Rayla. Just him and far too many empty rooms.

Including a workshop full of violently sharp weaponry.

_Leave your work on the walls._

_Oh. He_ does _understand._

“Hmm?” Breghan prompted.

Ethari nodded dumbly.

“I’ll take coldspice tea, if ye’ve got it,” Breghan pressed.

“Coldspice,” Ethari repeated.

“Aye, there we go.” Breghan smiled as if they’d reached some kind of breakthrough.

Ethari didn’t feel any different. But he had tea to make in the morning.

_Can’t go yet. I have company coming._

Breghan glanced up over Ethari’s shoulder. “Ah, let’s get ye cleaned up a bit, lad.”

Someone had brought warm water and cloths. The gathered elves washed Ethari’s face and hands for him, swiped vomit splatters off his pant legs, and brushed needles off his clothes, always with the gentlest of touches. So many touches, so soft. Ethari had to feel them all, each one reminding him that he was right there, with friends, in the Silvergrove. Nowhere else, nowhen else.

Just now. Just now.

“We’ll see him home now, Breghan,” Yarrah said. “He’ll see you tomorrow. Right, Ethari?”

“Mhh.” Ethari let himself be guided across the green and down the steps toward home. His friends would sit with him and chat. They wouldn’t expect him to join in. Conversation was for the living, and Ethari hadn’t decided if he still qualified. Perhaps he’d decide after tea tomorrow morning with Breghan.

Yarrah and Henlin bracketed him on the broad steps up to the tree house’s second door. The screaming in Ethari’s head had quieted, replaced with a quiet echoing that left him numb. It wasn’t better. It was just different.

Soon enough everyone would leave, and then he’d be alone with two too many ghosts.

Ethari wondered if they’d like tea in the morning, too.


	3. tenderest touch (leaves the darkest of marks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by "Hardest of Hearts" by Florence + the Machine
> 
> Runaan's very busy being a focused assassin when his body betrays him so powerfully that it takes over his reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super nervous posting this one, it's short, it's not my usual stuff, and I bumped the rating to M over this one just in case. But the muse is what it is--that "passionate/intense" thing really kicked in for me on this one. So I hope it's okay.
> 
> This chapter is rated MATURE.

He’d only been showing Ethari the imbalance point in his sword swing. It shouldn’t have affected him like that. But the craftsman had rested his fingertips against Runaan’s wrist in order to follow the arc of his momentum, and the warm pressure had nearly scorched Runaan’s skin. An hour later, Runaan could still feel them pressing through his swing, brushing the sensitive skin of his inner wrist like a burning feather. He kept running a thumb across his wrist, trying to erase the sensation.

It kept not working.

Alone in the dark, Runaan thought he could detect a mark, even. A bruise, a burn? Ethari’s imprint, his tactile signature. Indelible. An unexpected stain. Runaan pressed it to his mouth, but he tasted only himself. He slid his tongue across his wrist, felt his skin go hot.

He fell asleep clutching his wrist. He wasn’t sure why. It didn’t hurt.

He wouldn’t have minded if it did.

***

“Come by the workshop, then,” Ethari was saying, “and I’ll take a look at it for you.”

Runaan’s mouth was too dry to answer. He nodded curtly and continued on through the market stalls, leaving the tall craftsman in his wake, but it was too late. Each step away from him pooled more heat between his legs. His grimace sent others scattering out of his way, but he didn’t see them. His eyes were busily replaying Ethari’s full lips, the curve of his neck, that sweet spot between his jaw and his ear. His vision was oversaturated with flashes of exactly how Ethari would arch against his mouth if he nibbled there.

_It’s not important._

Runaan slipped through the first narrow gap he found, taking refuge around the back of a flower seller’s stall. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and cupped himself with a reluctant hand. Hard, insistent heat flared against his fingers, and he hissed in dismay.

“Traitor. I can’t take you anywhere now.”

_You know where you want to take me. Where you want to put me._

Runaan growled and stalked off toward the training arena. A few hours of pushing himself to the limit would leave him too exhausted for such distraction.

***

Ethari’s hands always left marks. Runaan could feel them for hours. For days. They burned dark in the night, steamed cold in the warmth of the sun. He hated them. He needed them. He couldn’t stop planting himself in front of the craftsman and inventing a reason to be touched.

Sometimes in the dark he dared to think what it would feel like to be touched more than casually. Would softer touches leave deeper marks? Would he feel those too? Would they hurt?

Part of Runaan wanted them to hurt. To anchor him tight. Strap him down and keep him from running.

_Don’t let me go._

But when the light came again, Runaan hid his chaos behind a hard mask and drove himself to exhaustion. Himself, and everyone else in the training arena. Real bruises covered Ethari’s illusory touches. Real wounds ached and throbbed and bled.

And still he craved Ethari at the end of the day. Some nights, Runaan fell to his knees in the shower, gasping Ethari’s name. Others, he wept into his pillow, begging for courage to face another day from behind his mask.

How did everyone else survive this? Runaan was certain it would kill him. Him, or someone else in the arena.

He nearly cried with frustration when he finally confided in Lain. But Lain was barely surprised. “Of course you’d fall hard, Runaan. You do everything hard. You can’t afford to risk waiting if it’s this bad. Go tell him.”

So Runaan had.

And Ethari had touched him softly. Cupped his face, stolen a kiss.

Runaan had nearly combusted.

***

Runaan backed Ethari against every wall he could find, held him still, kissed him hard. He pushed a little too hard, but Ethari let him. Until the day he didn’t.

“Runaan, I need to work.”

Runaan pulled his persuasive mouth from Ethari’s skin. “You need to come to bed with me.”

“I said I have work to do. Don’t make me tie you up.”

Runaan’s breath caught. All of Ethari’s touches flared across his skin at once, burning cold and dark and sweet. He reached for a dark leather strip on Ethari’s worktable and wordlessly held it out.

Ethari’s hand lifted, hesitated. His eyes raked Runaan’s.

“My love for you makes me lose control, Ethari. Help me find it again. Take it.”

Ethari’s kisses were icy fire across his shoulder as he toppled Runaan onto his bed pillows. Runaan felt the bite of the leather around his wrists and the hot tug of Ethari’s fist in his hair. His eyes welled with hot relief.

_Finally, someone to hold me together._


	4. now wait wait wait for me, please hang around (i’ll see you when i fall asleep)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men
> 
> A follow-up to chapter 2. Ethari struggles to get through the day, but he has the best support he can imagine.

Ethari's hands stilled as his gaze drifted from his work. Time wandered, unremarked. Memory spilled like ink, making no pattern, only a mess. With a heavy sigh, he set down the pendant he’d been tooling at and stood to stretch.

“Break time?” Runaan’s voice drifted in from behind him.

Ethari turned. “I could use one.”

Runaan leaned against a corner of the wall, arms folded, an easy smile on his lips. “Tea?”

Ethari’s eyes landed on the ladder upstairs. A cold shiver coiled in his gut. His eyes slid back to Runaan’s. _Not that way. Not enough illusion._

“Let’s get you some fresh air,” Runaan said, as if he’d heard Ethari’s thoughts perfectly. “Come on. Outside. We’ll take the scenic route.” Runaan tilted his head invitingly, and Ethari relented with slumped shoulders.

He pulled open the workshop door and winced in the bright morning light. “It’s… daytime.”

“Has been for a while now. You’re losing the days, working yourself so hard.” Runaan started up the broad white steps that circled around the thick old tree, and Ethari shuffled to follow.

Runaan had nice feet. Those slender boots always looked so good on him. Ethari raised his eyes a little higher.

Runaan didn’t even turn around before he said, “I know what you’re staring at.”

“Good.” A sassy follow-up died on Ethari’s lips, though, and he hugged himself suddenly, bending forward, pausing with each foot on a different step. Blinding blue grief jagged through him like a deadly wound. “Runaan…”

“I’m here, my heart.” A hand in his, pulling lightly. “I’ll walk with you. One step at a time.”

Ethari nodded though it shook tears onto his cheeks. He stumbled upward, breath shuddering. Around the curve, in through the second door, and up to the kitchen, one step at a time, with Runaan’s hand clutched in his the whole way.

Ethari busied himself with making tea, his movements slow but familiar. “I thought I heard you on the stairs last night. I waited for you to come back to bed.”

“You know how to find me, Ethari.” Runaan pressed a soft kiss in front of his ear. “No need to wait.”

Ethari’s hands stilled again. His eyes filled, and his world blurred. But it wasn’t nearly blurry enough.

Runaan’s voice brushed his ear. “Tea, my light.”

“Right. Right. Tea.” Ethari twitched into motion at Runaan’s gentle reminder. He sat in the breakfast nook and stared out the round window while his tea steeped, steaming on the table before him.

Runaan sat across from him, in his usual chair, and rested a long leg across Ethari’s knee under the table.

Ethari’s breath hitched. His fingers clutched his hot teacup for support.

“What’s next, Ethari?” Runaan prompted.

Ethari let his gaze linger on Runaan’s open expression. It took a long minute to organize his thoughts. “I need a shower. It’s been a while. And… I think I have some clean laundry somewhere.”

“Good. I’m happy to join you in that shower if you want.”

“I…” Ethari’s expression crumpled.

Runaan’s pale brows bent, and he leaned onto his elbows. “It’s alright to cry, Ethari. Here, in the shower, wherever you need to.”

Ethari nodded mutely. Drank his tea obediently. But even the warmth of the tea couldn’t touch the hollow darkness that filled his chest.

“Ethari.” Runaan’s voice was an insistent murmur. “You know I need you.”

Ethari looked up. “You don’t.”

“I _do_. I need you to be alright.”

“But I’m not. I’m not alright, Runaan.”

Runaan leaned forward across the table and fixed Ethari with those blazing turquoise eyes. “If you die, Ethari, so do I. I need you to be as alright as possible.”

“It’s so hard. Every breath weighs as much as this tree. It’s so hard.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m here to help. One breath at a time. You are my heart, Ethari, and I’m never going to leave you.”

Ethari’s eyes slipped shut, and two hot tears tumbled over his cheeks. “You already left me, Runaan.”

Runaan’s response was soft but prompt. “I did. And you know I’d take it back if I could. You know I would. I was wrong, and I should’ve listened to you. But please, my heart, don’t let my mistake kill us both. I love you more than life, and more than death. I’ll stay with you as long as you let me. Please. Stay with me, too.”

Ethari studied his tea and gathered his courage. He lifted heavy eyes to Runaan’s. “I’ll try a little longer. For you.”

Runaan’s grin was soft and sassy. “At least until after you’ve had that shower.”

Ethari snorted, laughed, and dissolved into tears. Runaan slipped his arms around him and laid his cheek against the back of his shoulder while he sobbed.

***

“I don’t want to forget you—I don’t want you to be forgotten.” Ethari curled up on the sofa under a blanket, with bare feet and damp hair, and stared toward a glowing flower across the room.

Runaan sat on the floor and leaned against the sofa with a wry smile. “Then you know what you have to do.”

“I feel like I could be doing such a better job at this. I’m useless.”

“No one expects otherwise right now. You can take time to be off-balance.”

“Shouldn’t I be… I don’t know, looking for a broad stance or resisting gravity, some kind of assassin technique to stabilize myself? You’d know what to tell me.”

Runaan’s gaze sharpened. “I _do_ know what to tell you, Ethari, and it’s none of that. Don’t make me repeat myself. In fact, _you_ do it. What did I just say?”

Ethari sighed listlessly. “You said I can take time to be off-balance.”

“And am I right?”

“Usually.”

His husband’s lips softened into a smile. “There you go.”

“I wish I could talk with you like I used to. I want to be the old me again. You shouldn’t have to tell me these things. I want to talk to you about your Moonstrider. About swords, and Rayla, and the latest village council shenanigans, and moonberry surprise. I don’t want to talk about how I miss you so much I want to die.”

“You miss us both, then.” Runaan’s words were faint, but strong.

Ethari blinked. “I… I do, so _much_.” He gasped in a deep breath and gritted his teeth against yet another sob. His cheeks were hot, his eyes dry and gritty, from weeping in the shower. “You left, Runaan, and you took me with you. Neither of us are ever coming back.”

“And yet here we are.” Runaan’s eyes glowed warm.

Ethari stared, uncomprehending.

Runaan leaned in and kissed him softly. “See? Right here.”

Ethari held still. It wasn’t the same. It would never be the same again. Was it enough anyway? “I’ll hold you as long as I can, Runaan. I don’t know how long that will be.”

“You don’t have to know that yet, Ethari. Just stay with me now.”

“I _want_ to stay. But I don’t want to settle.”

“Settle?”

Ethari fumbled through the rest of that thought. “I want so much more than to _stay_ with you, Runaan. I want to dance with you. I want to hear about your day. I want to ride out with you. I want to drown you in pretty jewelry and hold your hand in the market and pull you close at night. And I’m angry that I can’t have any of that anymore. I had it. Now I don’t. I want to go back. Sometimes… I think…”

Runaan’s voice was soft. “Say it.”

“I think that if I just wish hard enough in the dark, I can slip back in time, bury myself in illusions of you, and never wake again. That I can dance with you forever, Runaan. That I can have what I want. Sometimes I can feel it pull me, from the corner of my eye.”

“You can’t really go back, Ethari. You know that.”

Ethari closed his eyes against Runaan’s gentle expression. “I know. I know.”

“You should sleep, but you also need to wake up.”

Thinking about getting up in the morning physically hurt. Ethari snugged the edge of the blanket against his nose. “I know. Don’t listen to me. You know I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, my heart. You’re hurting. Besides,” Runaan added with a lopsided grin, “if you were crazy, then I’d have to be, too.”

Ethari remembered how much Runaan loved him, and he managed a smile. "Crazy was never your speed."

***

“I can’t remember if I got anything done today.” Ethari’s voice was muted in the darkness.

Runaan smoothed the sheet over Ethari’s shoulder and kissed his temple. “It doesn’t matter what else you did today, my light. You’re still here. You’re still with me. And if that’s all you ever do each day, then that will be enough.”

Ethari’s eyes burned with the exhaustion of carrying his grief all day. “You won’t be disappointed?”

“Never.”

Ethari snuggled his ear against his pillow and hugged Runaan’s pillow tightly. It still smelled of him. Ethari took a slow, steady breath, savoring that sweet outdoorsy smell. “Do you miss me too, Runaan?”

“I _have_ you, Ethari.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But it _is_ what matters.”

Ethari buried his face in Runaan’s pillow and let out a soft sob. The more he hugged the pillow, the sooner it would lose its beautiful scent, but he couldn’t stop hugging it at night.

He wasn’t sure he could stand never to smell Runaan’s scent again. What a cruel and empty world, where no trace of his husband’s smell remained. That it could be erased entirely, forgotten. That time and breath moved forward, as if he hadn’t mattered.

_If I don’t breathe, I can’t leave him behind. He’ll stay with me forever. And something of him will remain._

Ethari buried his face in the pillow. Felt his body begin to burn and go dark.

Runaan’s fingers reached right through the pillow and brushed his cheek. “Ethari. Don’t.”

Ethari flinched back and gasped a double lungful of air. Held it. Felt too alive.

His breath fled in a keening cry. “ _Aah_ , Runaan, it hurts so much! I haven’t been able to breathe properly since your lotus sank. Nothing feels real anymore, not you, not even me. Everything’s changed. Everything’s dark. And I don’t know if I can keep waking up and trying again. You keep asking me to stay. To eat and drink, to take care of myself. I’ve listened to you for days now. Maybe it’s your turn to listen to me. Maybe I should tell you to let me go. Maybe if I go, I’ll be able to hold you soon.”

Runaan leaned close and cupped his cheek. “One of us is perfectly sure that I shouldn’t listen to you right now, and it’s me. Which, I suppose, means it’s also you. You know you need me, Ethari. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I came. So don’t you _dare_ go anywhere. You know you won’t find me if you do. Stay. You have me here.”

A jaw-cracking yawn split Ethari’s face, and he shook his head to chase it away. “I want this— _you_ —to be enough, Runaan. How do I make it enough?”

Runaan pressed closer and softly kissed each of Ethari’s cheeks. “I may be gone, Ethari, but your heart was so open to me that you carry an impression of my very soul. I live on in you. You are the only elf who hears me, because you are the only elf who needs me this much. I’m here. For you. Always and forever. The longer you remember me, my darling heart, the longer I will remain. But you only ever need to take that next breath. To wake one more time. To see that next sunrise with me. So. For now. Promise me that you’ll see me in the morning, Ethari. Promise me that one little thing.”

Ethari couldn’t fight Runaan’s gentle love any longer. “I promise, Runaan. One more sunrise.”

Runaan’s smile warmed. “And tonight, I’m all yours. Dream of me, my heart.”

“I always do, Runaan. Always.”

“Then I’ll dream of you, too.” Runaan snuggled close as Ethari hugged his pillow, tucking his face against Ethari’s neck, draping one leg across his hip. And for one beautiful, perfect moment, the air around Ethari warmed with Runaan’s scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband's going to a funeral today for a childhood friend. This song hits differently today.


	5. the walls of my mind divide the thorns from the roses (it’s you who is closest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Afterglow" by INXS
> 
> Ethari has rocked Runaan's world, and Runaan needs a quiet moment to bask in his brand new feelings.

Runaan woke from a drowse, eyes lidding slowly open, and felt the room swing slowly. Moonlight drenched his skin, poured through the woven window ring, dazzled his sleep-glossed eyes.

Every inch of him _sang_.

A breath eased into his lungs, full of cool light and warm kisses. The air smelled of Ethari.

Runaan’s smile blossomed as he turned his head toward his beloved, feeling the tangle of his long hair brush across his shoulders.

Beside him on the mattress in the suspended tent, Ethari sprawled carelessly on his stomach with a blanket bunched in his arms. His right horn nestled atop it, and his thorn markings blazed lavender across his cheeks. Those beautiful copper eyes lay peacefully closed, and his back rose softly with each breath. The moonlight kissed his dark skin, tracing taut musculature and smooth curves.

Runaan reached out without thinking, but he hesitated, not wanting to wake his new lover. His stomach fluttered at the memory of feeling that body work over him, into him, drawing full-throated cries of pleasure from his eager lips.

His cheeks heated, his breath sped up. Ethari’s hands had caressed him, held him close in the moonlight. He’d whispered beautiful secrets in Runaan’s ears, brought him to the blinding white edge of reason time and again. And though he slept softly at Runaan’s side now, Runaan skin remembered every soft brush of Ethari’s lips, every masterful tease of his fingers. The gentle radiance of those glorious moments outlasted the moments themselves, leaving Runaan basking in a silken afterglow that pressed the world away and left him wrapped in timeless, euphoric perfection.

Runaan sat up, careful not to swing the tent as it dangled from the massive tree branch overhead. He rested one arm across a knee, leaning back against his other hand and letting his long hair cascade around him like a veil. The soft summer air kept him warm even without the blush in his cheeks. Soft chirps and hoots reached his ears as he stared out across the dappled forest. He wasn’t the only one the Moon called to.

The moonlight danced on Runaan’s horns and slipped across his tongue with every new breath, and he knew.

He _knew._

_There is no undoing this, and I’d never want to. But I wasn’t prepared. Not for this... this bone-deep feeling of… joy? Am I… happy? And… if I am… then what was I before?_

Runaan’s brows drew together as he searched his heart, chasing unfamiliar feelings down dusty halls that had seen little use. What he found felt right, but he didn’t understand it.

But maybe he didn’t need to. Not yet.

Ethari _loved_ him. Deeply, completely, with every breath he took. And now Runaan knew what it felt like to receive the full focus of that tender and glorious love. Ethari had shown the depths of his heart in so many ways that the assassin hadn’t really realized how much Ethari had still been holding back from him, afraid to push too far too soon.

 _Hah. “Soon.”_ It hadn’t been soon at all. Runaan had just been oblivious. Overconfident. Focused on his duty. He thought he could have his moonberry surprise and eat it, too.

He hadn’t understood how delicious it felt to be eaten.

_I need you, Ethari. I need this. With you._

The thought sparked, unbidden, from a beam of moonlight.

_I need you, because without you, I miss so much. I miss too much._

_Without you, I would miss you most._

Runaan’s heart tipped, toppled, slipped, tumbled. His stomach lifted and fluttered.

_I need you._

He was crying before he knew it, soft heaving sobs of need and love overwhelming his control, gently splintering it into crystal moonbeams. He tried to keep silent, but after a moment, Ethari’s hand brushed his back, smoothing his hair from his shoulder so he could press a soft kiss atop it.

“Runaan? Are you alright?”

Runaan laughed through a quiet sob and turned to seek Ethari’s beautiful sunset gaze. He cupped Ethari’s cheek, thumbed along his cheekbone, pressed their foreheads together. “I’m not sure yet.” _He can hold me down, but he lifts me up. It’s perfect. He’s perfect._

 _But am I? What good am I, if I’m this… lost in him?_ A traitorous shiver shook his heart. He braced against it, felt its quivers, breathed slowly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Ethari breathed. His dark brows bent as he pressed his hand over Runaan’s. “I’d never want that, Runaan, never.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I’m not hurt, don’t worry. Definitely the opposite.”

Ethari kissed him in sheer relief. “Thank the Moon. You said you were ready, but… I just wanted everything to be perfect.”

Runaan’s smile was soft, and something settled gently in his stomach. “It was.”

Ethari’s arms slipped around Runaan’s shoulders, and he pulled him against his warm, dark chest and kissed his hair. “I’d do anything for you, Runaan. You only need to ask.”

 _I’d do anything for you too, but… what do I have to give you? Only my service. Only my duty._ Runaan’s focus sharpened again, and his world returned to clarity. _I serve because it’s what’s right. But now, I want to serve for_ you _. To keep you safe, above all the others. I can never say so. But my true duty belongs to you now._

“There is one thing you can do for me, Ethari,” Runaan murmured, held comfortingly in those powerful arms. “Show me more.”

***

Runaan tucked Ethari deep into his heart and carried him on his missions. When he focused on his duty, a bright clarity rang around his mind, and the world was clear and sharp. But during the nights alone in his tent, deep within foreign forests, surrounded by soft, strange night calls, he curled up with his blanket, closed his eyes, and thought of Ethari in the moonlight. And smiled.

Duty came first, because it had to. An unbreachable wall separated the hard choices he had to make from the new soft tugs on his heart. On one side, he fought to keep evil and chaos at bay. But on the other, no threat lurked in the shadows—only welcome, comfort, and longing. Runaan found his feet lighter on return journeys. Each step forward was one more step closer to Ethari. To that great, soft love waiting to embrace him again. To murmur in his ear, to say nothing at all. To hold him tight, to set him free. To meet him in shadow and bring him into the light.

Ethari’s light was blinding. And Runaan couldn’t stop staring, reaching, stepping in, and basking. He could feel Ethari’s radiance winking in the corner of his eye no matter where he was or what he was doing. When Runaan let him go and strode out into the night, he felt Ethari’s light on his shoulders. And when he discharged his duty and turned his feet toward Xadia, that beacon called to him with a steady gleam, unshakeable, constant.

“Ethari.” Runaan’s tread on Ethari’s steps always alerted the craftsman that he’d returned. But Runaan liked to say his name aloud anyway. A sign that he was home.

And Ethari pulled him into a long, slow, warm embrace. Said no words. Just held him close. It didn’t matter what state Runaan was in—tired, dirty, bloody, cold. Ethari held him every time.

“I’ve got you, Runaan.”

And he did. Slowly, one cold mission at a time—one blessed night at a time—Runaan gave a part of himself over to Ethari, entrusting him with the deepest parts of himself, things he hadn’t known he possessed, hadn’t known how to use. Sometimes the depths within him scared him. Sometimes he lay in Ethari’s arms and cried from the sheer beauty of Ethari’s gentle care.

Ethari never judged him. He just pulled him close and held him safe within his quiet love. And that was the only message Runaan wanted to hear.


	6. take my hand, take my everything (if we only got a moment / give it to me now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Slip Away" by Perfume Genius
> 
> Runaan's royal father never had much time for love, but he had plenty of time to judge his son for not measuring up. So when the powerful elf makes a visit to the Silvergrove, Runaan needs a little encouragement from Ethari in order to convince him to tell his father they're dating. 
> 
> A Prince Runaan AU tale

Ethari’s heart pounded like a mad craftsman inside his chest, caught up in the beauty of his own vision. He could see the finished product clear as day. It gleamed and curved, bright and unbreakable. He could nearly feel it in his hands. But right at that moment, there in the audience chamber in the Silvergrove with a procession of village dignitaries to perform introductions for, Runaan was focused on weightier things.

Official Moon Druid visits tended to have that effect on everyone in the village. But on Runaan most of all.

Runaan’s voice filtered through the drumming in Ethari’s ears. “Father, may I present Ethari, one of the finest craftsmen in the Silvergrove. Ethari, my father, Orsirith, Bearer of the Seeming Stone.”

“All the Moon’s blessings upon you, Your Grace,” Ethari managed, offering a smooth bow. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Runaan’s boots. They practically radiated tension, at least to Ethari’s eyes. And he didn’t blame Runaan for that. Of all the introductions Runaan was performing this evening, only one of them involved his not-so-secret boyfriend meeting his overly strict father, who so happened to be a member of the Highgrove and therefore one of the six most powerful elves in all the Moonshadow Forest.

Ethari glanced toward Orsirith’s feet, but he couldn’t see his boots at all, hidden as they were beneath his robes. He looked back up at the stately Moon Druid before him, gauging his mood.

Orsirith stood exactly as Runaan did, with his arms wrapped behind his back. The long pale green dagged sleeves of his tunic draped smoothly against the sides of his sleeveless overrobe, which danced with faintly glowing enchantments along its broad brocaded edges. Orsirith was taller than his son, towering over Ethari by a few inches, but his face held the same cool beauty Ethari had fallen in love with. It rode harder across Orsirith’s cheeks, though, as if he lived in the hard mode that Runaan shucked when he came home from his missions. The druid’s hair was perfectly and elaborately styled, consisting of a crown bun laced with silver-beaded braids and a truly impressive waterfall of silver hair that reached to his knees. A finely wrought set of silver antlers branched up from Orsirith’s horns like a diadem, and three pairs of soft swooping braids wound from his bun through delicate metal hoops that hung from them. Paired with the icy blue of his eyes and the thin slashes of navy edging his cheekbones, and combined with his height and regal stature and his perfect, deliberate stillness, Orsirith’s entire appearance gave off the sense of an ancient mythic creature, part elf, part legend.

As he intended.

 _But he takes those antlers off at the end of the day,_ Ethari thought _. He cracks his neck and rubs his shoulders, like anyone._

Somehow, seeing this intimidating figure in the flesh, at long last, actually helped Ethari feel better. Not _great_. But Ethari knew an illusion when he saw one. And this illusion, he wanted to shatter. At least in Runaan’s eyes.

“I understand that you’re to thank for Runaan’s successes in the field,” Orsirith said. His voice was silk hushing across a sharp blade—soft, precise, beautiful. Hiding a trap.

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Ethari responded easily. “I merely put my creations in Runaan’s hands. He earns his success all on his own merits.”

Orsirith turned his head with ethereal grace and slid that icy blue gaze to Runaan for a moment. “Each of you sing the other’s praises so freely. Perhaps you secretly desire each other’s duties.” That regal chin lifted, and the druid’s eyes sharpened. “Tell me, Ethari. Did you ever consider serving in the honorable tradition of the Moonshadow assassins?”

That direct stare, nearly unblinking, was finally getting to Ethari. He felt he was seeing the coldest, most distant version of his beloved, and it didn’t sit well in his heart. “Every elfling does, Your Grace. To serve our people with honor and precision is among the highest callings we can heed.”

“Would you heed it?” Orsirith pressed. His voice was a velvet-sheathed dagger. There was no mistaking the sense that it was being pressed against Ethari’s throat.

Ethari swallowed thickly and managed not to glance at Runaan, though he could feel his beloved practically vibrating with tension. He took a quick breath and sighed, letting his own tension slip away with a grin. Runaan had called him to serve just last night. Called rather loudly, too. “I always serve where I’m called, Your Grace.”

Runaan sucked in a quick breath through his nose. _Oops_. Ethari had put a little too much innuendo into that reply, and the assassin had heard it loud and clear.

The way that Orsirith held Ethari’s gaze for a beat too long before smiling and inclining his head, making his looping braids gently sway, Ethari was half sure he’d picked up on it, too.

 _Moondimmit_.

The royal audience concluded, and Runaan gestured for Ethari to step over to the side with Lain and Tiadrin, and the other villagers who had already been introduced. He studied Runaan as he introduced the last half a dozen Silvergrove dignitaries to his father, saw how Runaan’s posture was tensing up, and felt his own jaw tensing in worry.

“Will he tell him tonight?” Lain murmured over Ethari’s shoulder.

Ethari let out a heavy sigh as his only reply. He felt Tiadrin pat his back in consolation.

“If you need us to arrange for an accidental discovery…” she trailed off meaningfully.

“This is Runaan’s fight, sweet,” Lain told her.

Tiadrin huffed. “Call me sweet one more time, see what happens,” she groused.

“Yes, sweet,” Lain teased.

“I’ll talk to him,” Ethari said.

When the introductions were finished and villagers began to bring out the feasting tables for a welcoming repast, Runaan finally stepped away from his father’s side. Ethari sauntered past Runaan’s back and twiddled his fingers against Runaan’s palm, inviting him to follow in a moment. He felt the assassin’s eyes track him as he stepped around a mulberry screen planted at the edge of the chamber’s columns.

Just stepping out of the room eased a lot of Ethari’s stress. His shoulders relaxed and he took a couple deep, calming breaths. _No wonder Runaan stands Like That all the time. It’s a coping mechanism._

Runaan joined him a couple minutes later. He eased around the shrubbery with a backward glance and tucked himself into the far corner of the antegarden, pressing his back against an old stone column that rose high overhead before arching into the shadow of the night.

Ethari obligingly followed him until they were as alone as they could be. “You’d better tell him, love. He’s figuring it out.”

“Not yet.” Runaan’s eyes clung to Ethari’s.

Ethari slid his hands up the firm edges of Runaan’s biceps. “Runaan. He’s only here for a few days. If you delay, he’ll wonder why. Tiadrin’s already scheming backup plans, too.”

Runaan didn’t reply. But he leaned his forehead against Ethari’s and closed his eyes. Hiding the truth he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Ethari heard it anyway. Runaan hadn’t planned on telling his father at all. He planned on letting him return home, none the wiser regarding his son’s romantic choice. Regarding his son’s choice to acknowledge that romance existed at all. “Oh, Runaan.”

Those glorious turquoise eyes opened, so close to Ethari’s. Wide and vulnerable, they showed Ethari every worry Runaan carried, every concern, every silent fear. But at the heart of them all was the young boy who still loved his father, who still wanted to please him despite his impossibly high standards. The boy who had broken and remade himself in his endless quest to be good enough, to be perfect.

The boy who failed in that quest, again and again. Who got up and tried again anyway. Because he didn’t know any other way to love.

_I can craft him another way._

Ethari tugged Runaan into a tight hug and wrapped his arms around him. Their hearts pounded against each other in a thrumming rhythm, and he felt Runaan’s arms slide around him, too, pulling him even closer. Runaan’s breathing puffed against his ear, as if he were in pain.

Ethari pulled back and cupped his face softly. “Let me tell you something, my heart. When I make something, I make it well. Don’t I?”

Runaan’s white brows drew together, and he nodded within Ethari’s soft hold.

“Is my work fragile?”

Runaan searched his face for a long moment before replying. “Not at all. Not even your most delicate jewelry.”

Ethari fingered one of Runaan’s hair cuffs, rolling it so that the swirls in the metal caught the soft light. “Everything I make takes the shape I intend for it. I craft with skill and with purpose, but also with love. I love what I make, Runaan, and I make it to last. Do you understand?”

Runaan’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t speak. His eyes were soft, lost.

Ethari’s hand returned to Runaan’s cheek. “Hear me then, my heart. I’m making _this_ with you. I’m making _us_ , with _you_. And there is nothing anyone—not your father or even the Moon itself—can do to break the shape we take.”

Runaan’s brows lifted softly. “What shape do we take, Ethari?”

Ethari’s smile flashed for an instant before his lips claimed Runaan’s. His hands sieved into that long white hair, and his kiss drew soft, urgent sounds from Runaan’s throat. He pressed himself full length against Runaan, pinning him against the pillar, feeling him writhe, hearing him gasp against Ethari’s mouth.

“Ethari, please… we shouldn’t…” Runaan begged in a thirsty whisper.

Ethari hummed kisses along Runaan’s jaw. “Run with me.”

“…What?” Runaan gasped.

Ethari paused and met Runaan’s eyes with a direct smile. “You can still hear your father from here. And he can still hear you. Run with me. Until he won’t. No matter how loud you are.”

Runaan’s gaze darted toward the mulberry screen, as if he could see the feast preparation taking place a few dozen feet away. A formal Moonshadow event, at which Runaan should most assuredly be seen in perfect form at his father’s side. His cheeks darkened to a sweet shade of moonberry. “Wh… Ethari, I…”

Ethari’s heart clenched behind his teasing smile. His heart hammered like a frenetic drum, and he felt its echoes ricocheting from inside Runaan’s chest. _Please, my love. Choose me. Just this once. Choose a new way to love._

Runaan’s bright gaze snapped back to his, as if his heart had heard Ethari’s. An ecstasy of terror edged his wide eyes and brimmed along his soft, disbelieving laugh. He launched a hard kiss against Ethari’s lips and murmured, “The brookmeadow. Race you.”

The assassin darted into the shadows, away from his father’s commanding presence, and the shadowy night suddenly exploded into a soft glow of radiant possibility. Its aura flared in Runaan’s wake as he ran through the empty village. Ethari took one soft, ecstatic breath and dashed after him. He never felt the ground beneath his feet, nor the chill of the night air on his skin. Only Runaan’s warm hand in his as they caught their breath beside the stream, his lips soft against Ethari’s as they tumbled to the soft grass, his sure fingers loosening Ethari’s clothing as he whispered sweet promises in his ear.

Runaan had chosen him. Ethari’s craft was true.

***

“If I tell you we should return, will you be upset?”

Ethari hummed a kiss against Runaan’s temple as he smoothed the assassin’s side tail and clipped on a hair cuff. He hadn’t meant to tangle Runaan’s hair, but that pouty mouth had demanded every inch of Ethari’s attention, and he’d needed to hold on tight. “No. I understand.”

Runaan settled Ethari’s scarf around his neck with gentle fingers. “I think you do, better than I. I finally see what you’ve been trying to show me all this time.”

Ethari’s fingers paused. He turned Runaan’s chin so their eyes met softly. His silent question hovered between them.

Runaan’s lids fluttered. “I didn’t want to lose this. What I have with you is precious and perfect. If my father disapproves strongly enough, I… I could lose everything. And most especially you. And that, Ethari, I thought I’d do anything to prevent.”

Ethari brushed his nose against Runaan’s. “But…?”

“But if I’m not holding onto you with both hands, my light… do I really have you? Or do I only have my fear of being without you? I want to hold on with both hands.” He demonstrated by taking Ethari’s cheeks and pressing a fervent kiss against his lips. His hands slid to Ethari’s shoulders as he pulled back, and they slid down to take Ethari’s and pull him to his feet.

Runaan took a deep breath, and his expression tightened. “He may still disapprove. And I may still lose everything. But I won’t let that happen without proving how much you mean to me. If we only have this moment, Ethari, then I want it. I want _this moment_.”

“I’ll do whatever you need, Runaan,” Ethari responded. His soul shook at the thought that their lives might fall apart tonight. Runaan could lose his position. His father might even recall him to the Moonhollow. Ethari might never see Runaan again. But if his beloved was ready to face his father, then Ethari would absolutely stand at his side. “I’m with you. Come what may.”

Runaan lost himself in Ethari’s eyes for a long moment, and the distance in them told Ethari that Runaan was running options. Despite the worry and fear that nearly strangled his heart, Ethari grinned. This was Runaan’s forte. Dancing within the rules to find the best steps.

Then Runaan echoed his thoughts aloud. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“You trust me.” Runaan’s eyes glowed in the night.

Ethari’s smile was prompt. “Always.”

“Then dance with me, after the feast.”

Ethari’s hands found Runaan’s hair cuffs, his collar, his shoulders, making tiny adjustments. “Just like always?”

Runaan’s gaze firmed, and it took Ethari’s breath away. In one glance, Runaan conveyed his steely intent, infused with the fullness of his love. “Just like always.”

Ethari’s eyes stung as he offered Runaan his hand and a breathless smile.

***

They entered the chamber side by side and parted ways with a nod. Runaan was immediately flanked a pace behind by Lain and Tiadrin, who wore their best poker faces. Lain reached out without turning his head and plucked a leaf of grass from Runaan’s ponytail. Tiadrin turned her head ever so slightly and sent Ethari a wink.

Ethari hid his grin and went to get something to eat.

Runaan sat at his father’s right hand during the feast, but the druid was busy talking to a constant stream of well-wishers. While Orsirith barely had time to eat, Runaan only picked at his food. Ethari wasn’t hungry, either. His feelings swirled in a mix of relief and nervous anticipation.

Despite the sensation that time had entirely stopped moving, it was suddenly time to clear away the tables and let the evening’s dancing begin. Ethari’s heart started pounding again, for half the same reason as last time. His gaze kept track of Runaan, and he felt like the most obvious fool in the room until Tiadrin sauntered up and asked him for the first dance.

Ethari gasped with relief. “Yes, please, Tiadrin.”

Her knowing smirk was worth it as he spun her around the floor in time with the other dancers. He managed to glance away from her light banter long enough to spot Runaan, standing beside his father, the pair of them watching the proceedings with matching cool expressions.

“He’s definitely telling him tonight,” Tiadrin murmured as they spun closely past each other.

“Did Orsirith notice our absence?”

Tiadrin took his hand and pivoted away, then back. “Of course. But Runaan very carefully left after you did. You came back together, though. I hope your method of convincing him was an enjoyable one.”

“I’m not sure who convinced whom.” Ethari couldn’t help the gentle flush on his cheeks.

“Even better.” She patted his muscular shoulder as she spun past him.

As the dance drew to a close, Ethari took Tiadrin’s hands and offered her a smiling bow. “It’s been a great pleasure knowing you, Tiadrin. You and Lain both. If I never see you again after tonight…” His eyes stung again, and he took a breath to steady himself. “…I want you to know what your friendship has meant to me. To us.”

Tiadrin stared up at him, then glanced over toward Runaan and his father. When her gaze returned to his, he read in it a strange intensity that befitted her original duties as one of Runaan’s personal bodyguards. “I’d do anything for him, Ethari. And I haven’t tested what that really means yet, but if we end up testing it tonight, just know that Lain and I are here for you both. And I know we're not the only ones.”

Ethari’s eyes widened.

Lain appeared then, at Tiadrin’s elbow, and held out his hand to her for the next dance. She offered Ethari one last meaningful smile before pivoting away to take her place with him.

He watched her go, feeling that nervous uncertainty return. Then a hand with callused fingers reached into his field of vision from his other side. He looked up along its long, muscular arm to that familiar shoulder, that soft smile, those deep crystal eyes.

“May I?” Runaan asked.

The room went white around them as all else faded away. Tiadrin, Lain, Orsirith, the Silvergrove. The Moon. Only Runaan existed. Runaan and his new way to love.

_This is our one moment._

Ethari smiled and took Runaan’s hand. They spun into place, a hand on each other’s shoulders. Runaan didn’t even wait for the music to begin before stepping into the dance, but the players in the corner of the chamber had his back. They jumped right in, taking their cue from his steps, as did Ethari.

As he took his first turn, spinning away, Ethari had no idea what he’d see in the room around him. Would everyone ignore the import of this dance? Would they look to the druid for their own cue? What were Lain and Tiadrin doing?

Ethari needn’t have worried. In the second it took him to spin, he saw dozens of smiles, dozens of dancers, swirling in around them to take their own places.

To dance with them, alongside them, in the eyes of the Moon Druid. A swirling circle of love and support spun and leaped and bowed, twirled and dipped and pirouetted around them. As if there was nothing extraordinary about their favorite assassin and his beloved craftsman dancing together.

Because in the eyes of the Silvergrove it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Ethari’s heart swelled so big that his shirt felt tight. He looked to Runaan, wondering if he felt the same connection, and found Runaan wearing the same expression he’d had at the brookmeadow—intense, focused love. Focused on Ethari.

He gasped. Runaan’s dance _was_ him telling his father. And he was pouring his heart and soul into it. Ethari felt a swell of focus, and he beamed a bright smile at his beloved.

_This is our one moment. Ours, but not ours alone. We’re not alone._

Ethari pressed his hand against Runaan’s as they pivoted and stepped, putting everything he felt for Runaan into his movements. The way Runaan smiled, the way Ethari’s heart leapt at the sight of him, the soft brush of his voice in Ethari’s ear, the long sway of his ponytail, his strong hands, the way that poise of his softened at Ethari’s touch—everything, every bit, it all streamed into that dance.

And then they were standing at the end, hands pressed together, breathing heavily, eyes locked, not wanting to be the first to look away.

Runaan folded his fingers through Ethari’s, turned their hands, and dropped a kiss on Ethari’s knuckles, as he always did when they finished a dance together. Then he looked up and smiled. “That was quite a moment.”

Ethari thrummed with the beat of the song, eyes full of Runaan. He surged forward and kissed him, softly but with intense feeling.

Runaan gasped softly through his nose, but he leaned into the kiss for a moment before breaking it with a smile.

“Did you see it?” Ethari murmured. “Everyone swung in around us. It was beautiful.”

“They probably saw the look of sheer terror on my face as I was walking up to you,” Runaan said.

“You were incredibly brave, Runaan. No matter what happens next.”

A sudden silence was all the warning Ethari had before Orsirith simply appeared next to him and Runaan, hands tucked behind his back, silvery antlers towering regally. His face was a mask of perfect composure.

“Son.”

Ethari tried to step back, but Runaan’s grip on his hand wouldn’t let him.

“Father.” Runaan kept his tone as cool as Orsirith’s.

Ethari tingled with nervous anticipation. His fingers tightened through Runaan’s.

The druid’s ice-blue gaze studied Ethari for a long moment before returning to his son’s face. “I congratulate your wisdom. Your mother would have been proud.”

By the way Runaan’s eyes widened, Ethari worried that he’d never heard either of those phrases before in his life. He quickly unpacked the layers of meaning behind Orsirith’s words. Orsirith had indeed noticed how the village swirled in to support their dance, interpreted it as a long-term tactic on Runaan’s part--which it may well have been--and possibly even approved of such a practical match. An assassin and his craftsman would make an excellent pair in defense of the Moonshadow elves and their goals.

And Runaan’s mother had been the soft one.

“Your Grace is very generous,” Ethari heard himself say. “Runaan’s safety is my highest priority. I would never let anything get in the way of his ability to perform his duties. You asked me earlier if I’d heed the call of an assassin. Your Grace recalls my answer?”

One perfect white brow arched in response. “I do.”

Ethari tensed his shoulders and lowered his head just enough to hood his gaze. “I heed the call of one assassin in particular. Doesn’t much matter what he needs from me. He’s getting it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ethari saw Runaan look at him in slow, wide-eyed wonder, but he kept his gaze pinned on Orsirith’s face. “Rest assured, Your Grace,” Ethari added, “your son is safe in my hands.”

Runaan’s hand was nearly crushing Ethari’s, but he remained silent. All three of them understood Ethari’s silent claim—and the delicate threat that accompanied it. If Orsirith ever made Runaan unhappy, Ethari wouldn’t hesitate to defend him, even against one of the most powerful Moon Druids in the Forest.

Orsirith dipped one silver antler in acknowledgement of Ethari’s statement, setting his swooping braids swaying again. “If you disappoint me in his protection, Ethari, you will disappoint us all. Runaan carries the honor of his family, his clan, and all the Moonshadows. And now, so do you.”

Ethari lifted his chin and tossed a grin toward the towering druid. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I have strong shoulders. I won’t mind bearing that load with Runaan. Not at all.”

That white eyebrow quirked again, this time toward Runaan. Whatever was on his mind, Orsirith kept his thoughts to himself, saying merely, “My regards to Lain and Tiadrin. Their loyalty remains unmatched. Please inform Tiadrin that she can stand down with whatever plans were hiding behind the looks she was freely distributing during your dance.”

Runaan’s grip on Ethari’s hand loosened. “As you wish.”

Orsirith dipped his silver antlers again. “Then pray, let the evening continue.” He turned and swanned off the dance floor.

Runaan and Ethari turned to each other, breathless, smiling. Runaan rested his hands on Ethari’s biceps and pressed their foreheads together as if catching his breath after holding it for far too long. Possibly a lifetime.

Ethari set his hands on Runaan’s waist to steady him. “You heard your father, Runaan.”

“Hmm?” Runaan’s bright eyes opened, soft with relief.

Ethari’s expression warmed. “Let the evening continue.” He took Runaan’s right hand in his own and held them overhead, the first pose for the Dance of Seven Roses—a dance of lovers. The musicians immediately launched into the song’s first notes, carrying the couple away in a swirl of thrumming music that drummed almost as loudly as their ecstatic heartbeats.

***

Later, Ethari dared to ask Runaan what he thought of his father’s reaction.

“You rocked him back on his heels, Ethari. I’ve only ever seen one person do that. You took his threat and turned it into an opportunity. You challenged him the way my mother used to.”

“Your mother? Is that why he looked at you strangely?”

“He always thought my mother was the epitome of grace and practical perfection. The soft parry to his every hard thrust. They danced perfectly together. Everyone says I look like my father, but he only ever saw my mother in me, until doing so hurt too much. Then I only had value if I was like him. And I worked so hard to be who he wanted me to be.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“But, Ethari, don’t you see? I made myself in his image as best I could, and then you walked in, stood at my side, and took the role that the love of his life held. He couldn’t deny the illusion of his own perfect happiness when it stared him in the face like that. When you stared him down and softly defended me. That’s exactly what she would’ve done.”

Ethari let a soft smile grow on his face. “Runaan, are you saying we have your father’s permission to _marry_?”

Runaan studied him seriously. “Probably.”

Ethari sucked in a breath. Felt his heart thrumming hard. “If we disappoint him, we disappoint everyone, remember? And I don’t think either of us wants that, do we?”

Runaan’s brows rose softly, and his mouth fell open.

***

At the next Winter’s Turn—the first one they celebrated after their wedding—Ethari and Runaan visited the Moonhollow for a month of winter celebrations with the Moonshadow elite.

On their first day there, Ethari presented his father-in-law with a carefully crafted silvery horn diadem bearing an antler pattern similar to the grand, impressive one Orsirith had worn to the Silvergrove. Though the antlers Ethari made were smaller to weigh less heavily on the druid’s head, the diadem was adorned with clusters of bright cabochon rubies as winter berries amid sprays of emerald leaves, and a light enchantment dappled them with misty moonlight and tiny snowflakes.

Orsirith wore it all month long.


	7. under a blue moon I saw you (so soon you'll take me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "The Killing Moon" from Echo & the Bunnymen
> 
> Ethari's admiration for assassins leaves him breathlessly dazzled at the Blue Moon Festival when the newest assassin in the Silvergrove ambushes him on a soft mission.
> 
> pre-canon, canon compliant, what happens at the Blue Moon Festival stays at the Blue Moon Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took so long. It's pushing 10k! Gosh. I really love Blue Moon Festivals. And elf smooches.
> 
> Also this could've been a lot wilder but I really wanted something soft for these trying times. Enjoy.

Ethari swiped his sleeve across his forehead, glanced across the workshop and took a deep breath. Everything looked to be in order. He’d finished just in time, pushing himself hard for the last three days. Charms, bracelets, two sets of horn cuffs, and Lain’s new staff, on top of a whole crate of Blue Moon enchantments. He wanted to sleep for a week. But there was barely time for a shower—

A mild commotion in the village drew his attention. Before he headed up the ladder for a rinse, he poked his head out the tree house door and looked across the way toward the village gate.

The assassins had returned.

Ethari’s ears perked up, and he stepped out onto his porch to watch the popular team of six badass elves swagger down the treeway together. Lain and Tiadrin had been gone for nearly two weeks. He had hoped they’d be back in time for the Blue Moon Festival. Clearly, they’d pushed themselves to return in time for it, too. They sauntered with the rest of their squad, all of them exuding that easy confidence that came with such exquisite physical skills.

Ethari sighed wistfully. They all looked so _agile_. He did okay at dancing, but trees were not his thing. And running all night for a week straight was _definitely_ not his thing. _Look at them. All slender and bendy. Willows, each one of them_. He sighed again, admiringly.

He tracked Lain and Tiadrin, hoping they’d glance his way so he could wave them welcome. But they both seemed very attentive to the newest among their ranks. The tall one with the incredibly long ponytail. Lain had introduced him to Ethari once in the market last month. Ethari recalled that his name was Runaan. He must’ve done well for his colleagues to josh and banter with him like that.

_Look at the way he saunters. All poise and control and lanky confidence. Look at that stride. So perfectly balanced, he looks like he’s floating. Mmfff. Lain and Tiadrin must be really impressed with him. They don’t fawn over people for nothing._

_He must’ve done_ very _well._

Ethari took a step back to head inside for that shower, but he paused and gave the tall assassin another once-over. Those rangy legs seemed to go on forever. And those broad shoulders definitely confirmed that Runaan was an archer. And that ridiculously long hair must be quite a handful… how did he manage all of it so well?

_Mmmm. Why do I always find the dramatic ones so distracting? He probably already has a date for the festival. Had his pick of dates, no doubt. I wonder what kind of women he likes. Some bright delicate young thing? Maybe someone saucier, another assassin like Tiadrin._

_…Shower. Right._

With one more sigh, Ethari headed back inside to get ready for the festival.

***

Moonshadow elves only gathered together with other villages once in a blue moon, and tonight was the night. The Silvergrove elves sang their way through the forest toward Blue Moon Rock. A broad slab of dark granite shot through with streaks of white deep in the wood, the flat stone was easily as big as the Silvergrove. It would be packed with several villages’ worth of elves all night long—a dizzying, crowded party under the moonlight that would satisfy everyone’s urge to get out and mingle for the next couple of years.

Wearing his festival best like the rest of the village, all white with navy accents and intricate swirlies at the hems and cuffs, Ethari trailed shyly behind the assassins as they walked, catching friendly looks from both Lain and Tiadrin as they sang together. The couple held hands as they walked side by side, and Ethari smiled watching them.

Everyone’s hair glowed softly in the dark beneath the tree canopy, creating a riverine procession of soft moonlight as they wended their way along the ancient path through the forest. And not five paces ahead of Ethari dangled that long thick ponytail, bright against Runaan’s tunic, which was more navy than white. _More shadow than moon. Even amid all the other elves in our whites, Runaan stands out. He’s dressed impeccably for a Blue Moon Festival._

So much light. It radiated three times as much of a soft glow as anyone else’s hair, hanging past Runaan’s hips like that. It swayed mesmerizingly against his tunic as he walked with his colleagues, too. Ethari found himself tracking its soft fall as they all walked.

Best of all, Runaan was walking alone and seemed to be date-free. Ethari nibbled at his lip and let his mind wander happily. _What do his eyes look like up close? I barely remember what his voice sounded like… it was really soft and smooth. I hope I get to hear it again tonight._

Someone nudged his elbow.

“Hmm?”

“You stopped singing.”

“Did I?” Ethari blinked. _Uh oh._ He took a deep breath and tried to look somewhere else while he picked up the thread of the melody again. But he’d gravitated early in the procession to follow Lain and Tiadrin, and he couldn’t just dart off and walk somewhere else now.

His cheeks felt warm as he realized he still had another mile to go while Runaan sauntered in front of him, oblivious— _hopefully_ —to Ethari’s intense appreciation. _Long hair, long legs,_ everything _about that elf is long_. Ethari’s eyes suddenly widened as his mind rocketed through a full anatomical list, and his blush ramped up its heat at one particular entry. He rubbed a rueful hand across his mouth and sighed in exasperation. _Moon and shadow, I can’t be thinking like this. I don’t even know him!_

Ethari tried to hide his distraction and keep his singing in tune, but it wasn’t easy. As the Silvergrovers finally stepped into the clearing a while later, Ethari could hear the other villages singing as well, their voices ethereal in the thick moonlight. The rock looked empty, but he knew it wasn’t. A whole carnival of entertainment awaited just past the edge of the concealment spell.

The other five villages that shared this rock with the Silvergrove trooped out and stood in a massive circle that surrounded the stone. There must’ve been a couple thousand elves with Ethari in the meadow. It was a dizzying number. Some days, he didn’t see more than a dozen other people. And now, this rush of social interaction. The headiness of it buzzed beneath his skin, and he grinned. The crafters always enjoyed getting together and swapping goods and stories, and he had some whoppers to share.

But first, he had to dance through the protective spell that hid it from the world’s notice.

He took a deep breath and bit his lip, looking for someone to dance through the spell with. Six elves at a time, the Silvergrovers joined up and began dancing toward the flat stone that dominated the clearing. Some of the Silvergrovers actively sought out old friends from other villages, and Ethari was on the brink of doing the same when Tiadrin snagged his hand.

“Come on, you. Dance with us!” Her turquoise eyes gleamed up at him in the moonlight.

Ethari’s eyes widened in pleasure, and he grinned down at her friendly demand. One simply didn’t argue with an assassin, no matter what they asked of you, and she knew it. She tugged him toward Lain, who was recruiting Salila, the Silvergrove’s favorite baker, and her wife, Torassi. Ethari looked around for one more to make six, and his eyes landed on Runaan, standing with elegant poise nearby, his hands tucked behind his back. No one seemed to have asked him to join them yet. _Maybe because he’s new to the Silvergrove, and also really intimidating?_ Ethari thought. But three women and three men would be a good balance, no matter how they partnered up.

“Dance?” Ethari blurted before he could stop himself.

Runaan curtly inclined his head, though his brilliant turquoise eyes locked onto Ethari’s as if he were an archery target. “Of course.”

Ethari managed a smiling murmur of agreement—at least that’s what he hoped it sounded like—but he had just tripped and fallen into those liquid crystal eyes. Leaped breathlessly, tripped headlong. They might’ve been the same color as Tiadrin’s, but they radiated a whole different energy. Where Tiadrin was sturdy and reliable and calm, Runaan was ice cold and perfectly focused. On Ethari.

His heart pounded like a wild thing. He’d never felt like prey before. He hadn’t expected to _like_ it.

_Oh, fuck me sideways, I’m going to dream about those eyes._

Lain swooped in and rescued him by grabbing Runaan’s hand and tugging him into position for the dance. Ethari clucked his tongue as he realized that Lain had _already_ asked Runaan to be in the group.

 _That’s why he said “of course.” He saw Tiadrin ask me. But I missed Lain asking him. He wasn’t accepting_ my _invitation. Moon help me, I’m a fool._ Ethari took Tiadrin’s hand and joined the circle, lost in a misery of embarrassment.

Ethari wasn’t paying attention to his prospective partner among the circle of other dancers, but he should’ve been. Lain danced opposite Tiadrin, and Salila danced across from Torassi. After an initial bow and spin, everyone leaned into the middle to grasp the hand of the person opposite them, and Ethari felt his hand get clasped in a vice.

He’d danced with everyone else in his group at one point or another, and with most everyone in the Silvergrove, in fact. He’d have remembered that tight of a grip. It dragged him out of his distracted thoughts with a sharp jerk, and his eyes flew to his partner.

Runaan’s gemstone gaze awaited him once again.

With mesmerized dismay, Ethari recalled his earlier wish to see Runaan’s eyes up close. He hadn’t really _understood_ then. Runaan’s eyes were like a raptor’s, like a force of nature. They could devour his soul and Ethari would thank him.

Ethari managed a tiny gasp before he was swept away into the dance. Runaan’s other hand landed perfectly against Ethari’s back, took his hand, pressed his shoulder. His fingers arched gracefully through the air. His feet twirled and stepped on perfect tiptoe. And everywhere he spun, Runaan’s hair swirled after him, dragging his cool, spicy scent behind him like a seeking arrow. Ethari spun with him through a series of turns and spins, arching their hands over the other dancers and then spinning together below their arched arms, until they returned to their original positions in the circle.

Ethari barely remembered his dance moves, he was so distracted. He ducked just in time under Tiadrin and Lain’s arched arms. He nearly stepped on Runaan’s toes once. And he probably clapped his hand far too roughly against Runaan’s waist when it was his turn to spin his partner. He just prayed to the Moon that he hadn’t actually been reciting each upcoming dance step _out loud._

The spell activated as they all turned and bowed in place. It rushed out from them and ricocheted off other nearby spells like pond ripples, pinging softly and glowing with radiant lines all across the clearing. A cacophony of merry elves laughing and singing reached his ears from the festival, a friendly roar of gleeful activity that thrummed nearly as loudly as his own heart.

Ethari kept his head down and caught his breath, hoping to settle the extra flush in his cheeks before he stood up. Runaan didn’t need to see his face to know what a poor partner Ethari had made, though. Maybe it would be alright if he just…

Ethari finally straightened.

Runaan was gone. He’d already vanished into the maze of tents, displays, food courts, and performance pavilions that sprawled across Blue Moon Rock.

In dismay, he looked to Lain and Tiadrin. “Was I that bad?”

Tiadrin stifled a knowing grin. “Dancing with assassins is intense for everyone. Even other assassins.” She winked at her husband. “So handsy.”

“Woman, I know how you like me to dance with you. And don’t worry, Ethari,” Lain reassured him, clapping a hand on his back. “He’s just eager.”

Tiadrin tsked, rolled her eyes, and smacked Lain’s arm. “Don’t say it like that. If anything, he’s eager to get it over with.”

Ethari studied the chaotic crop of voices rising from the tents and pavilions. “Get what over with? The festival?”

Lain hummed in amusement. “That too. Runaan’s not one for parties of any size.”

Ethari sensed that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer from his friends. He supposed he could just wander around on his own and hope to spot Runaan doing something—alone—so he could join him—coincidentally—

_What am I doing? Chasing an assassin around a Blue Moon Festival like a lovestruck fool? No one chases assassins. It’s always the other way around._

Ethari recalled Lain and Tiadrin’s courtship—fiery, fast, loud, dramatic. It had captivated the imaginations of every Silvergrover until they finally made their relationship official. Ethari had sassily made popcorn for him and his fellow crafters to eat during one of the happy couple’s early sparring matches. Tiadrin had won, so she didn’t mind. And Lain had found it hilarious.

Ethari wondered if Runaan would pick a fellow assassin as well. _Probably. He seems so intense, he’d want a woman who could match him. Maybe he’s in a hurry to meet up with one from another village._ His tummy flipped and fluttered at the thought of having to watch Runaan marry someone someday. He’d look gorgeous in wedding whites, though. _And all that hair… I wonder if he ever takes it down…_

Ethari’s fingers twitched.

“Ethari? You coming?”

He blinked. He’d just been standing there, staring, lost… Now was no time to be on his own. He’d probably wander into the forest and starve to death. How lucky he was to have two honorable assassins who were willing to put up with him for the night! “Sure. Yes.”

Lain and Tiadrin linked arms with him and pulled him into the festival, bidding the baker and her wife farewell as they headed to the food court. Together, the three elves wandered through booths and past performances, and detoured through the food court more than once. Ethari let go of his fixation on the tall, attractive assassin and let himself enjoy the night with his friends. Acrobatic reenactments of the most popular Garlath myths, sacred choirs, paper cones full of roasted nuts, learning a new dance from a neighboring village dance master, ring tossing, edible moonberry necklaces, moonflower crowns, puppet shows put on by elves in their shadowform, enchanted ice cream treats, glow-in-the-dark horn jewelry. Everything was glorious, everything was perfect. Ethari had rarely felt as alive as he did with the Blue Moon pounding through his veins.

He wasn’t sure he’d really shaken Runaan from his mind, though, since he kept noticing other Silvergrove assassins ambling with other elves. Holding hands, sharing food, talking quietly, or showing off their skills in the dance rings or the game arcade. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he caught a glimpse of an assassin kissing someone in the shadows of a tent.

_Maybe thinking of Runaan gives me life, too._

Sometime after midnight, Tiadrin steered Ethari away from the food court and toward a quiet little lane between tents. “Let’s swing by this way.”

“What’s down there?” Ethari asked.

“Friends. I just want to see how they’re doing.”

Lain shrugged helplessly and trailed after her, so Ethari did, too. No one ever benefited from going against Tiadrin’s plans. The cloth tents on either side of the little alley muffled the noises of the festival somewhat, giving a strangely comforting, secluded air to this tiny pocket of space. Ethari followed the others for about twenty feet until the area widened, revealing a bit of open space on the back side of several tents, as if they stood to guard it.

In the space rested a small wooden dais. A table atop it held a dozen small bowls. Some of them had tightly rolled scrolls in them, while others were empty. Around the edges of the dais rose a few wooden training constructs that looked like artificial trees. A pair of assassins sparred with what sounded like blunt metal swords in the area behind the platform.

“Told you,” Tiadrin said with a grin. She darted toward the dais.

“Told you what?” Ethari asked Lain.

“Look up.”

Ethari raised his eyes, and a bolt of adrenaline shot through him. “Are you _kidding_ me.”

Runaan stood stop one of the training trees in a dramatic pose, with one foot on an upper limb and one atop the structure’s very crown. The Blue Moon itself saw fit to silhouette the curve of his horns and his profile, and the night wind teased through his long ponytail and the tails of his navy tunic in epic fashion.

Lain reached over and helpfully shut Ethari’s mouth with a finger below his chin.

Ethari turned to him in helpless exasperation. “Is he always like that?”

Lain only grinned at him.

“Runaan,” Tiadrin called. “Stop trying to see the future and get down here.”

Runaan glanced down at her on the dais. Then his gaze slowly tracked its way to Lain and Ethari.

Even from afar, Ethari could make out the electric blue of his eyes. That gaze had such weight, such moment, that he could barely breathe. Even though he was nearly hyperventilating. _Oh, fuck me sideways_. He gasped in a deep lungful of air and clamped his lips shut, staring back at the silhouetted assassin, loving the view, hating the way Runaan felt far more real to him than he did himself.

_But if I don’t exist, then no one can tell me not to stare._

Runaan shifted his feet and dropped to the dais, landing with light grace. He and Tiadrin fell into conversation that didn’t seem to invite company, but Ethari’s heart fluttered at the velvety sounds of Runaan’s murmuring. Until Lain tapped Ethari on the arm.

“You know how this works?” He gestured to the dais and its table.

“How what works?”

Lain chuckled. “Okay, that’s a no. Did you ever wonder how Tiadrin and I first noticed each other?”

“Just working together, I thought?” Ethari guessed.

“Oh, no. Work is work. There’s no fraternizing when we’re on the job. And with our training schedule, there’s little opportunity to get to know anyone outside the assassin corps. We only get to do that once in a blue moon. And we do it here.”

Ethari wasn’t following. “You do what, exactly?”

Lain waved him toward the table. “Come see.” As they stepped onto the dais, Lain indicated the bowls, each carved of heavy dark blue stone. “Each assassin who isn’t courting someone, but might like to, has a bowl here. Anyone who wants to get to know them a little better can leave them a note, all rolled up and private, and return to the festival. If the assassin reads it and finds the person interesting, they’ll track them down in the festival and do what the note asks. Think of it like… leaving soft mission requests.” Lain smiled winningly.

Ethari glanced at the bowls. About half of them had little scrolls in them. Some had one, while others had a handful. He recalled all the assassins he’d seen around the festival. “So everyone else is out, um, fulfilling soft missions tonight?” he asked delicately.

“Yep.”

Ethari studied the bowls discreetly. They didn’t bear names, so he had no idea if Runaan’s bowl was empty or overflowing. Either way, that tall drink of moonberry juice wasn’t out on a soft mission.

 _Would he want to be, if someone asked him?_ Ethari wondered _. Maybe he hasn’t been asked, and that’s why he wants this to be over with. He is new to the Silvergrove, after all. If I had to sit here and never get chosen all night, I’d want it to be over with, too._

“What… what do people ask?” he murmured, not wanting Runaan to overhear him and think him rude, or ignorant.

Lain waggled his eyebrows. “You have no idea.”

Ethari pressed his lips together. “I _know_ , Lain. That’s why I’m _asking_.”

Lain laughed loudly, causing Runaan and Tiadrin to glance over. Ethari shot Lain a wide-eyed look of impatience. “Don’t be a moon squirrel, Lain. You want to explain, then explain. _You_ dragged me over here.”

Lain grinned at him. “ _You_ followed me, and now _you’re_ asking all these questions.” He chuckled and relented. “Most requests are just for time spent. A lap around the festival in conversation is a common icebreaker. If that goes well, then the assassin will get a second note for something more specific. A dance in one of the common areas is pretty popular. Or grabbing a meal in the food court. Sometimes even a kiss. Just, you know, ordinary things that people do together. Assassins are just people, too, Ethari.” Lain flicked his gaze toward Runaan for a bare second. “No matter how ethereally dramatic they may seem.”

Ethari stared at Lain and tipped his horns as if to ask if he was really sure about that. “So did you put a note in Tiadrin’s bowl, or did she put one in yours?”

Lain grinned. “What do you think?”

“Definitely Tiadrin.”

“You know it. She asked me to catch her on the way back from a soft mission and just walk her back here. It was the softest, easiest mission I’ve ever had. I’ll never forget the way her eyes lit up when she saw me coming out to escort her back.” Lain clapped a hand over his heart and slid his eyes shut in bliss. “We didn’t want to ruin everyone else’s fun, though, so we kept our requests to little things like that all night. And when the festival was over, we walked back to the Silvergrove holding hands and started courting properly.”

Despite the magnetic pull of Runaan’s presence not twenty feet away, Ethari couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face. “Oh, Lain. That’s so sweet.”

“See? Just elves, like everyone else.” Lain’s eyes flickered toward Tiadrin as if receiving a silent signal. “Alright, she’s done catching up. Let’s get back to the festival. You were hungry. I can’t let my favorite craftsman starve!”

“Your favorite…?” Ethari grinned and ducked his head. He caught sight of Runaan’s boots and glanced up without thinking.

The assassin was staring at him again, focused and unblinking. Ethari’s heart stuttered into a galloping rhythm. He desperately wished he could read that blank façade, but Runaan gave him very little to work with. Ethari offered him a quick grin, hoping for a response, and got a blink in return.

_I must’ve been a terrible dance partner. He’s probably annoyed that I keep hanging around with his coworkers._

“Let’s go,” Tiadrin announced. “I’m hungry, too.” She started shooing Lain and Ethari ahead of her off the dais.

As Ethari stepped down onto the stone, he felt a vicelike hand close around his and pull him to a stop. He turned back in surprise to see Runaan holding his hand, leaning down from the dais.

Ethari had rarely felt short or small since he reached his full height a couple of years ago. But in that moment, with the riveting assassin looming attentively over him, Ethari felt positively _delicate_. A delighted shiver rippled up his spine, and his lips parted with a silent gasp.

“Thank you for dancing with me earlier.” Runaan’s voice was formal and cool. “I… enjoy taller partners.”

Heat slammed into Ethari’s cheeks as he realized what Runaan was actually telling him. “Y-You were very graceful,” he blurted.

Another studious blink. “Thank you.”

“I…” Ethari nearly panicked. Runaan was right there in front of him, looming over him, making sure that Ethari understood that he was gay, but _not_ returning the compliment on gracefulness. _Maybe I’m not? I sure didn’t feel graceful. Oof, he’s really squeezing my hand. He probably doesn’t know how strong he is._

Ethari reflexively squeezed Runaan’s hand in return. Then he realized what that must look like. He let out a little yelp and was about to fight Runaan for possession of his own hand when Tiadrin grabbed both of their wrists.

“Break it up, boys, before I die of hunger. Ethari, escort a poor swooning lady to the mooncream pudding cart, will you?”

“I— yes—” Ethari found his arm tucked through hers, and he was dragged unceremoniously away and back into the dull roar of the festival. He managed one backward glance as they turned the corner into the main thoroughfare.

Runaan had summited the training tree again and was staring after him. Twin gemstones glowed turquoise from within his silhouette against the Blue Moon.

***

Ethari made sure that he and Tiadrin got some food, and then he parted company with them to meet fellow craftsmen from the other villages for a while. He passed two very companionable hours in the back of a weaver’s tent, sharing hilarious and embarrassing stories with a dozen other crafters and enjoying cups of berrymead.

When he stepped outside the tent for a breath of fresh air, the moon told him that the wee hours of the night were upon him. Dawn couldn’t be more than three or four hours away. He’d had more social interaction in half a night than he had in the past year, and the high of it buzzed beneath his skin. Or was that the berrymead? Ethari chuckled to himself. It didn’t matter which. He was having a very nice Blue Moon.

“Ethari.”

The soft voice caught his ear as he passed around the back of one of the performance pavilions. He glanced up, startled, and saw Runaan perched atop one of its stark white pillars. “R-Runaan?”

The assassin leaped down and landed before him. Ethari sucked in a breath at the dramatic entrance. Runaan stepped close, watching him coolly.

“Here?”

“Uhm…?” Bewildered, Ethari trailed off and glanced around. No one stood within ten feet of them, but they were very visible through the open pillarwork of the pavilion.

“Very well. Come with me.” Runaan caught Ethari’s hand and towed him around the edge of a kitchen shack that was serving the most delightful-smelling food out front.

Ethari trailed after him in a happy daze, utterly lost and not caring a bit. When they reached the relative seclusion of the back of the building, he began, “Runaan, what—”

Runaan pressed a hand against his chest and backed him against the wall. Ethari’s breath fled in a heavy gasp, and his horns thumped against the wood. He glanced down at Runaan’s hand, right over his heart. Surely he could feel Ethari’s racing heartbeat. Wide-eyed, he looked back up into Runaan’s face.

Runaan’s other hand caressed his cheek. His fingers trailed along Ethari’s jaw, and he thumbed a soft line across his cheekbone. His thumb and finger found their way to Ethari’s chin and held it steady.

“ _Nnhh_ …” Ethari couldn’t see straight, couldn’t breathe. All he could see were those glorious turquoise eyes glowing at him.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Ethari?” Runaan murmured.

Ethari’s chest burned cold, while all the heat in his body suddenly pooled a bit lower down. He had so many questions— _what, why_ —but he dared not break the spell of the moment by asking them. _Once in a blue moon…_ He licked his lips, gulped, and nodded.

Runaan’s lips were on his in less than a breath, moving sensuously like hot silk, tasting like moonberries and cream. His hands cupped Ethari’s face, and then one slid back to tangle in his hair. Ethari gasped against Runaan’s mouth, and his hands reflexively grasped Runaan’s waist, fingers digging into his dark tunic.

Runaan hummed at that, a nice low growl of pleasure that _did things_ to Ethari. He dared to slip one hand up against Runaan’s cheek, to curl his fingers into that long thick hair and pull him in harder. The assassin sucked in a sharp breath at that, but he didn’t break the kiss. In fact, his tongue came questing, soft and hot, teasing Ethari’s with quick, darting touches.

Ethari’s knees nearly gave out. He clung to Runaan with both hands, kissing him hungrily, lost in a surreal daze where nothing existed except him and this tall, hot, dramatic assassin who’d appeared out of the shadows to fulfill a fantasy Ethari hadn’t even known he had until it started happening. Was there going to be more? Would they end up sneaking off into the forest? Ethari was breathlessly ready to do whatever Runaan wanted.

Runaan ended the kiss. His chest heaved against Ethari’s, and he rested their foreheads together with his eyes closed. He seemed to relax under Ethari’s hands, and they stood like that for a long moment. Ethari gently ran a hand up Runaan’s back and pressed against the back of his shoulder, offering a reassuring embrace.

Runaan’s eyes opened slowly. “Does this kiss meet with your satisfaction?” he murmured breathlessly.

Ethari whimpered in the affirmative, once again lost in that crystalline gaze.

Runaan straightened and nodded to himself. He looked away, then back at Ethari.

 _He’s leaving. Just like that._ Ethari’s stomach didn’t know which way was up anymore.

Runaan pressed a hand to Ethari’s shoulder and squeezed warmly, and then he ghosted back into the festival without another word.

Ethari’s knees took a vote and unanimously decided to surrender. He slid down the wall and landed on the stone with a hard thump. One hand softly covered his mouth as he gasped for air. His tongue explored his lower lip and found it pleasantly swollen. And his mouth tasted of moonberries and cream.

He grinned and felt the pull of it on his delightfully well-used lips. _Moon help me. Runaan just kissed me! Out of the blue!_

_…Out of the Blue Moon._

_What. The_ fuck _. Is happening._

A delirious giggle slipped past his fingers. He didn’t care, not a single bit. If this was the kind of thing that happened at Blue Moon Festivals, then Ethari wasn’t going to question it. Not at all.

He scrambled to his feet and started looking for Lain and Tiadrin, and found them in just a few minutes, strolling toward him and chuckling over something.

“Lain, I don’t think you told me everything about assassin protocols during Blue Moon Festivals,” Ethari began. He couldn’t hide the grin on his face.

Lain pretended not to notice. “What do you mean?”

Ethari aimed for smug, but when he spoke, all he heard was fanboy. “Runaan just kissed me!”

Lain hooted gleefully and clapped him on the shoulder. “You liked it, I see! Well done, you!”

Tiadrin raised an eyebrow at Ethari. “I didn’t _see_ you leaving a note in Runaan’s bowl.”

“What? No, I didn’t leave him a note at all!” Ethari protested. “He just… ambushed me.”

“Well, he did thank you for dancing with him,” Lain said thoughtfully.

Ethari stared at him in disbelief as he recalled Runaan’s cool intensity at the assassins’ dais. “He hides the depth of his gratitude amazingly well.”

“Runaan hides everything well,” Tiadrin muttered.

“Until he doesn’t!” Lain said triumphantly.

“What… what should I do now?” Ethari stammered. “Any advice? You know him better than anyone.”

“Leave it with me,” Tiadrin said soothingly. “Go mingle. He found you once. If he’s genuinely interested in you, Ethari, he’ll find you again. Lain will keep you company. Unless you suddenly don’t _want_ any company.” She winked.

Ethari let Lain pull him toward the game arcade. He glanced back to see Tiadrin waggling her fingers at him in teasing farewell.

“What a night, eh?” Lain said with a nudge against his arm. “All those notes in Runaan’s bowl, and he comes out and finds you instead. I wonder if he read one of them wrong? On purpose?”

“W-What?”

“You know,” Lain said with a wink. “An _honest mistake_.”

“I said I didn’t leave him any… That bowl with all the messages was Runaan’s?”

Lain stopped in front of a magnet-and-illusion ball toss game, and the elf in charge of it handed him three balls. He handed two to Ethari and shrugged. “You know how it is. Fresh meat in the village. Runaan’s been here for what, two full Moons now? And most of that time he’s been practically cloistered in the arena, bonding with the other assassins. Hardly anyone has seen him, let alone had a conversation with him. They don’t know who he’s attracted to, so everyone’s giving him notes in order to find out. Seems he’s made his preferences clear, huh? Like an arrow to his target.” Lain drew back his arm and let the ball fly toward one of the hovering targets but it was just an illusion, and the ball passed right through, sticking to the metal wall behind it with a loud clang of defeat. The remaining six targets floated and mingled, rearranging themselves. “Aw. I was sure that one was the real one.”

“So you’re saying everyone wants a taste of him.” Ethari’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe he wants a taste of everyone else, too.” _Maybe I’m not special at all. Why would I be?_

Lain took a ball from Ethari’s hand and hefted it, studying the remaining targets. “I haven’t known Runaan very long. But I can tell you this. Tasting people is not on his mission checklist.”

Ethari raised a confused eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Lain tilted his head and studied one floating target in particular. “He’s very focused, as you’ve seen. And he’s like that all the time. On task. Whatever his task is, that’s what he does, and that’s all he does, until it’s finished.” Lain threw the ball hard, and once again it clanged against the metal backdrop. The remaining targets danced and swirled around again. Lain rolled his eyes. “Anyway. Tasting people? Not on his list. Not that I’ve seen. Not until tonight.” He grinned and reached for the last ball, but Ethari held up a finger and kept it.

He studied the targets, then glanced at Lain, who gamely shrugged permission. Ethari threw the ball at one of the five targets, and it stuck with a high chiming sound.

Lain’s eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“I’m good with enchantments,” Ethari said. “I’m not so good with reading unreadable assassins, though. Maybe he’s just enjoying the Blue Moon Festival like everyone else. Letting loose. Just because we live in the same village doesn’t mean anything has to come of that kiss, right?”

Lain accepted the flower crown prize from the gaming elf and settled it gently over Ethari’s horns. “You won that fair and square. Besides, lavender lilies look way better on you than me. And you could be right about Runaan. We’ll just have to wait and see. But I have to ask…”

They started strolling again, and Ethari felt his tumultuous emotions rising. “Ask away, then.”

Lain let his eyes scan the dark stone underfoot. “Would it bother you, if nothing else comes of this? Because, well… we _do_ all live in the same village. Tiadrin and I are happy to run interference if you need it. Or we can… just give it all some space, if that’s what you need. We don’t want to see you hurt, if this… doesn’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t be hurt, I promise.” _I’ll be devastated, but it’s not like that’s anyone else’s problem. I’ll get over it. We barely know each other._

_But I want to, now. Want him to know me._

Ethari and Lain strolled and strolled, stopping and greeting friends, dancing, eating, and laughing themselves silly. Ethari started to see the same assassins from earlier, doing far more personal activities with their chosen companions. More kisses, walking arm in arm, dancing the slow dances.

Runaan didn’t come find him, though. No matter what Lain had said, Ethari felt his heart stretch and burn at the thought that Runaan might be off kissing other elves as thoroughly as he’d kissed Ethari. _I want it to be me. He could do anything he liked, and I’d let him. Moon’s light, I want to see his face make so many different expressions. I want to find out what’s under that façade. I want… I want…_

Ethari felt his cheeks go hot as he began imagining what he wanted.

Lain was a true friend, keeping Ethari as distracted as possible throughout the festival, but eventually the eastern horizon began to lighten, and Ethari’s heart began to sink. The Blue Moon festival was drawing to a close, and Runaan hadn’t sought him out a second time.

_I guess he isn’t interested, after all._

He and Lain wandered into a meditation garden, made from potted plants and decorations transported to Blue Moon Rock, and his feet slowed to a halt. “I think the light of day’s about to end this illusion, Lain. But it was nice while it lasted. It was really nice. Thanks for walking with me.”

No answer.

Ethari turned. “Lain?”

Runaan stood there in the garden. Staring again.

Ethari’s heartbeat went staccato, and his breath fled with a tiny “ _Ah._ ”

Runaan tilted his horns and looked Ethari up and down. His eyes lingered a moment on Ethari’s lavender flower crown. A slow smile spread across his lips, and he stepped forward with purpose.

Ethari gulped. “You came back.”

“You wanted me to.” Runaan eased to a stop right in front of him, deliciously close. Ethari could feel his breath on his cheek. One hand settled against Ethari’s waist, drawing him in, and when the elves were close enough, Runaan brushed the tip of his nose invitingly against Ethari’s cheek.

 _Moon help me, here I go again._ Ethari turned his head with a whimper and pressed a hungry kiss against Runaan’s mouth. He nibbled on his lower lip, tasting fresh moonberries, and Runaan surged against him, taking his face in his hands and pushing him back across the garden with ardent force. Ethari clung to Runaan’s tunic as he backed blindly across the garden, letting Runaan’s passion steer them both, until he bumped against a decorative silver barrel. The little statue atop it tumbled off into a patch of moss with an unheeded thump. Ethari toppled into its place, sitting hard, spreading his knees and pulling Runaan close by his tunic, not wanting to break their urgent kiss.

_Fuck, I’m probably going too far—_

Runaan slung a long leg across Ethari’s thigh and leaned into him, wrapping his calf behind Ethari’s buttocks and squeezing, pressing their bodies together. A soft, urgent moan rumbled through his kiss, and Ethari came undone. His stomach flipped, went icy, burst into butterflies, and then the butterflies caught fire. The barrel teetered beneath them, nearly dumping them both over, and Ethari clung to Runaan’s tunic, ready to fall, but not alone.

 _Fuck me_ “sideways—” he whimpered.

The kiss slowed, and Runaan withdrew like hot silk, leaving Ethari’s lips swollen and wet. His eyes glowed in the night as he studied Ethari.

_Prey. He’s going to take me, and I’m going to let him. I want him to. Please, Moon and shadow, why is he so damn hot…_

“Is that what you wanted?” Runaan breathed.

“Very much. And… I won’t say no, Runaan.”

Runaan’s brows rose. His gaze flicked to Ethari’s mouth and back to his eyes. The heat of his body throbbed into Ethari like a bonfire.

“If you take me into the forest, I won’t say no,” he breathed. “I don’t _want_ to say no to you.”

Runaan’s mouth opened as if he would speak. Instead, he brushed his thumb across Ethari’s bottom lip. Ethari felt Runaan breathing against his chest, with deep, controlled breaths. He felt like a panicked Shadowpaw in comparison, the way his breath heaved in and out. Ethari’s hands loosened their hold on Runaan’s clothes, held him gently at the waist. He tried very hard not to think about the hard heat that pressed together between their bodies.

Runaan’s thumb gently pressed down, opening Ethari’s mouth. It slipped inside, drawing Runaan’s gaze with it, dipped against Ethari’s tongue, found it sopping and hot.

“ _Nnngh_ ,” Ethari groaned around Runaan’s thumb. His eyes rolled shut, and he gave the questing digit a soft suck, rolling his tongue against its pad.

Runaan breathed in sharply, and his chest stilled. Ethari’s eyes popped open and he looked, starry-eyed, up into Runaan’s face. Those gemstone eyes were fixated on his mouth. Runaan withdrew his thumb and slowly slicked it across Ethari’s bottom lip, leaving it cool and tingling in the night air. His fingers wrapped under Ethari’s chin, and Ethari leaned into the soft control of Runaan’s grasp. His fingers clenched against Runaan’s waist, begging for more.

And then, in the space of a silent breath, Runaan was gone. His weight and heat lifted away, spun back into the space behind Ethari with nary a sound, leaving a trailing brush of warm fingers along Ethari’s shoulder again. By the time Ethari turned—confused, dizzy, and _very_ thirsty—Runaan had vanished.

 _What the moonloving fuck._ He slumped forward and rested one hand against the barrel’s edge, trying to catch his breath. Runaan’s warmth slowly faded from his skin, and that loss pained him more than he expected.

_Did I do something wrong? Is he just messing with me? I was too forward, wasn’t I? Shit. Moon and fucking shadow. Can’t think. Literally none of my blood is in my head right now. I need to lie down._

Ethari slid off the barrel with as much grace as he could muster and flopped onto his back on the moonlight-drenched stone in the meditation garden. His flower crown fell askew. The sweet scent of the potted flowers and moss filled his nose, but he could still smell Runaan from when he was pressed so closely that they shared breath. _I’ll just meditate on how hot that was. Yeah._ He threw an arm across his eyes and gulped for air, for balance. And hoped he wouldn’t ache for _too_ long before he could walk comfortably again.

There was no question of chasing after Runaan, not even after this second mindblowing kiss. One did not attempt to track the God of Death.

_One does not expect the God of Death to murder people with passionate kisses, either, but here I am, dead on the ground._

The cold stone sucked away more of Ethari’s heat, and he began to tremble. _Here I am. My heart just stopped, and I’m dead to everyone else. Only Runaan can make it beat again. My God of Death, giving me life. Moon help me. Seriously. Send help._

Ethari stared up at the Blue Moon as it arced toward its final horizon and laughed helplessly to himself. And then Lain appeared, his horns silhouetted against the full Moon, and offered to pull him back to his feet.

The Moon had sent him help, after all.

***

_Don’t chase the assassin. Do_ not _chase the assassin._

The mantra rang on repeat in Ethari’s head as he joined the Silvergrove elves for their return journey home. Through the heavy tree cover, streaks of pink and gold marked the sky, cool yet radiant, like the moonburst inside Ethari’s chest.

Lain and Tiadrin walked together just in front of him again, hands clasped and swinging merrily. But Runaan had vanished. Every time he felt the urge to look around for him, Ethari remembered the feel of Runaan’s mouth on his, the heat and weight of him, and his stomach spun dizzily up into his chest, leaving him breathless all over again.

 _He’s not even here and he’s driving me wild._ Without thinking, Ethari swiped the back of his wrist across his forehead, lifting the edge of his moon-white crop top.

Cool fingers caressed his side through the gap, and Ethari twitched and hissed a gasp. A warm arm wrapped around his back as Runaan stepped up on his other side. As he dropped his hand with a soft trail of fingers along the warm skin of Ethari’s back, the look the assassin offered was warm, secretive, and inviting.

“ _Ghhngh_ ,” Ethari managed.

Runaan’s smile broadened, though he looked forward in an attempt to mask it. His knuckles brushed against Ethari’s with casual deliberation as he strode at Ethari’s side.

_I don’t care where he’s going. I want to follow. He can lead me anywhere he likes._

A glorious mist seemed to shroud everyone and everything but Runaan, who walked in perfect, silent clarity at the center of Ethari’s focus. Ethari’s eyes started to hurt from constantly peeking at Runaan from their corners. Runaan’s profile never wavered, that sharp chin raised with purpose. His horns curled dark above his hair, and that thick white silk pooled against the back of his shoulders like a mantle. Ethari wanted to bury his nose in it and breathe deep.

Runaan moved like a panther, every step silent and precise, his shoulders broad and steady, a long arm guiding his knuckles against Ethari’s every dozen steps. He was all control and grace, coiled power ready to spring. Ethari trembled with his need for that power to spring at him.

_He has to know what he’s doing to me. He has to. “Life is precious” my left horn. He’s doing this on purpose to torment me. Nngh._

When they reached the Silvergrove, Ethari’s back was damp with the sweet sweat of an hour’s walk subtly flirting with the most alluring elf he’d ever set eyes on. He was dizzy with the hot visions that had been playing through his mind, sparked by Runaan’s amorous kisses, and he was very determined not to let this magical blessing of the Blue Moon slip away. As the villagers queued up to dance their way into the Silvergrove, Ethari slipped through the dappled sunlight of the morning over to the elves that had been carrying back some of the assassins’ festival supplies.

Humming under his breath, he took one piece of paper and wrote a quick note on it.

_Please visit me for all your craftsman needs._

He didn’t sign it. He knew he wouldn’t need to.

But when he returned to where he’d left Runaan, the elusive assassin was gone again.

Exasperated and aching in all the best ways, Ethari tucked the rolled note into his belt and groaned.

“He’s already danced his way in with Tiadrin,” Lain said. His eyes flickered to Ethari’s belt and back up. “Did you have something for him?”

“It’ll keep,” Ethari said. _If I don’t die of longing first._

Lain’s lips twitched into a quick smile. “Had a good night, did you? I’m glad. You both deserve it.”

Ethari’s brows lifted softly. “Yeah?”

Lain clapped a wiry hand on his shoulder. “Yeah. Tiadrin’s been… _invested_ … in Runaan’s happiness since he got here. I’m glad he’s found some with you. She does so love being right. Maybe _I’ll_ get a bit of peace now, too.”

Ethari shook his head ruefully. “You say you assassins are just like us, Lain, but you all exist on a whole other level.”

Lain just grinned with a twinkle in his eye. “Come on. You can dance in with me, and Runaan will come get your secret little gift.”

“He will?”

Lain winked. “Tiadrin will make sure of it.”

With a sigh of relief, Ethari joined Lain in dancing into the village and then headed for home. He made it all the way up the curve of the tree house to the workshop door with his back stiff and his smile pleasant, but under the porch roof, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door.

“Runaan…” he breathed. A prayer, a plea. Why had the assassin chosen him? Would he ever know? Did it matter?

_Not at all. Not even a little bit._

“Ah, Runaan.” A soft growl of need ground against the bedrock of Ethari’s voice.

“Ethari.”

Ethari nearly jumped out of his skin at the velvet brush of Runaan’s voice. He whirled around.

No one was there.

A long white ponytail swung into view, dangling from the edge of his porch roof. Ethari raised his eyes and spotted Runaan, smiling softly down at him from atop the roof. A gasp of relief escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Runaan hopped down onto Ethari’s porch and offered him a knowing look. A shiver rippled down Ethari’s spine, and his fingers twitched. _Please, please do it again. Press me against the door, take my lips with yours, take anything you want. Please, come take me._

But the assassin waited patiently. After a long moment, Ethari’s eyes widened with realization, and he held out the note he’d written. That’s why Runaan had come, after all. Not for more kisses.

Not yet, anyway. But that was the whole point of the note.

Runaan took the note with precise fingers and unrolled it, wearing a half-smile at the sight of the familiar little festival scroll. Ethari’s heart waited eagerly in his throat, hoping breathlessly.

But Runaan’s smile died a sudden death. “ _This_ is your handwriting?”

Ethari’s eyebrows shot up. Of all the responses he’d hoped or feared to hear, that hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Wha—?”

Runaan’s wide-eyed shock faded in the blink of an eye, disappearing behind a perfectly controlled façade. He seemed to grow another inch or two, and the air around him went chill. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. Excuse me.” Runaan hesitated, started to add more, then thought better of it. He stepped backward off the edge of Ethari’s porch and vanished down below.

Ethari darted forward, breathlessly calling, “No, wait—!”

But Runaan was gone. Again. Perhaps for good.

Ethari stared after him, utterly baffled. The pool dell was empty—Runaan had simply disappeared. The ache in his chest swirled hot and dark, where it had been filled with moonlight not a minute ago. Flares of hurt and confusion sparked like angry sprites. Ethari hovered on his porch, frozen, lost, and suddenly afraid that he’d lost the most glorious chance for happiness he’d probably ever have.

_Did I do it wrong? I wanted this so much. Did I push too soon? Is this my fault?_

Tears pricked his eyes, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. He plucked the flower crown from his head and stared at it. His lavender lilies had begun to wilt. _Just like my hopes._ With a sharp jab of anger, he hurled it out toward the pool, then he whirled and rushed inside.

Ethari ran to his worktable and leaned his hands on its familiar, smooth surface, desperate for the calm and order he felt here. His chest heaved with desperate breaths, and tears blurred his vision. _What did I do? What did I do that caused this? How can I fix it?_

The night’s wild adventure played from start to finish in his mind as he struggled to understand what had happened. And then, finally, scattered details began to fall into place.

Oh no.

Oh _no._

_Oh, fuck me sideways._

Tiadrin.

Tiadrin had set them up.

Lain said she’d been invested in Runaan’s happiness. And she’d been the one to lead Ethari to Runaan. While she distracted Runaan, Lain drew Ethari to the bowls where the assassins received their messages. Then Runaan had taken Ethari’s hand, and they were _both_ distracted.

Tiadrin must’ve left a note in Runaan’s bowl right then. And because Runaan had seen Ethari by the bowls, a moment earlier, he thought Ethari had left it.

Runaan thought _Ethari_ had asked him for a kiss. And so he delivered one. He’d even asked for confirmation beforehand, and satisfaction afterward.

Ethari’s fingers fluttered to his lips. _Surely he didn’t kiss me_ just _because he thought I asked, did he? He had a bowl full of requests. Even Tiadrin said the assassin gets to choose._

 _Because no one ever chases an assassin. It’s always the other way around_.

Ethari’s heart spasmed. Tiadrin’s plan had very nearly succeeded. _If only I hadn’t ruined everything by writing that note!_

He leaned on his worktable, eyes full of memory—overflowing with the feel of Runaan’s hands, his lips, the scent of his hair, his warmth—and felt his eyes prick with tears. He couldn’t breathe again, but for the very worst reason. The loss of what might’ve been draped heavily around him, weighing on his shoulders.

He’d lost him. He’d been so close to happiness. And it was gone. Ethari doubted Runaan was the sort of elf who gave second chances. He bowed his head and closed his eyes to keep his tears from falling. _I can’t fix this, can I? It’s over._

A gentle hand on his arm startled him. _Assassins and their stealth._ But it wasn’t Runaan this time.

“I’m sorry,” Tiadrin said. “I was trying to help. You both seemed interested… I’m sorry, Ethari.”

Ethari blinked away his tears and took a deep breath. He turned to his well-meaning friend and patted her shoulder. “Next time, brush up on your forging skills first, hmm? I wrote him an invitation to visit, and it broke the spell.”

Tiadrin’s eyebrows rose in soft apology, but Ethari wasn’t interested in prolonging his pain any further. He headed upstairs, slept away the rest of the morning, and started work on his next projects after lunch.

Sleep, eat, work. Sleep, eat, work. Visitors came to ask him for projects, and he gladly took them all on. But none of them were assassins. Even Lain and Tiadrin left him alone. The days blurred and Ethari let them, staying home alone, focusing on being useful. Practical. Reliable. He packed his heart in a box and set it aside. He wasn’t sure he’d need it ever again. He definitely didn’t need it now.

_Just work. I can do that much. Just work._

One day, a week later, while Ethari was tinkering at his worktable, a shadow flickered in the mirror he used to see visitors. Its horns curled just so, and its owner held perfectly still, content to wait for Ethari’s official notice.

Ethari needed a minute before he gave it. _Those horns, that perfect posture…_ In a heartbeat, he was back at the festival, being pressed against the wall, being tasted and enjoyed, left breathless and delirious.

_No. That was then. What happens at the Blue Moon Festival stays at the Blue Moon Festival._

When he had his breathing back under control, he made an exaggerated gesture of acknowledgment and met Runaan’s eyes in the mirror. He turned slowly on his seat cube, stood, and walked across the workshop, since Runaan seemed comfortable remaining by the door.

Ethari’s heart was pounding again, with confusion and longing and nerves. Their eyes met for a long, long moment. Ethari was surprised to see that the assassin had stepped out of his usual spectrum of stoic to intense and opted for a softer, more hesitant expression.

“How can I help you?” Ethari asked softly.

Runaan looked down at his own hand as if surprised to find a sword in it. “The balance is off,” he said, offering it to Ethari on both palms. “I hoped you might take a look and see what you can do for it.”

Ethari’s dark brows rose softly as he automatically accepted the sword from Runaan’s hands. Their fingers brushed. Ethari was sure that Runaan let his touch linger against Ethari’s hands for just a moment. He stared at the sword—a vital piece of Runaan’s life, in his hands for the mending.

He looked up with a start as he realized he hadn’t replied yet. But Runaan didn’t seem to mind. He held Ethari’s gaze gently and added, “It’s a good sword, despite its flaws. I’d hate to throw it away. Perhaps… a craftsman of your skill is exactly what it needs.”

“I’m happy to do what I can,” Ethari said carefully.

Runaan gave him a crisp nod, but then he hesitated. “ _Your_ handwriting is very… precise. I expect your craftsmanship will be of the same excellent quality. Good day, Ethari.” With a direct look and a press of lips that might’ve passed for a smile, Runaan was gone, leaving Ethari standing in a swirl of emotions tinted with the scent of Runaan’s hair.

 _My handwriting, as opposed to Tiadrin’s… Oh!_ A tingle of sharp realization shot up his spine as he realized Runaan had come to _apologize_. Runaan’s reaction to Ethari’s note had been so swift, he hadn’t actually read the words Ethari had written until later. And then, he’d taken days to figure out what to do about it. Because he wanted to get it just right. _Perhaps with Tiadrin’s help again. Moon save me._

And Runaan’s new plan began with an apology. _An assassin. Apologizing to me_. Ethari’s heart leaped onto his Shadowpaw and galloped off across the Silvergrove, whooping and hollering with ecstatic glee. They weren’t at the Blue Moon Festival anymore. Runaan had had a week to think it over, and this moment here was his decision.

This was real. This was really happening.

Alone in his workshop, Ethari’s grin was a mile wide. His hands still cradled Runaan’s sword as if it were the assassin’s heart.

Ethari’s gaze dropped to the sword, to all it represented. To all it promised him. His brows lifted softly.

_Oh, fuck me sideways._


	8. and when you come my heart will be waiting (to make sure that you're never alone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by “Moondance” from Van Morrison
> 
> just a pair of soft idiots in love

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Ethari murmured in Runaan’s ear.

The slight tremble that shivered under Runaan’s skin seemed answer enough, but he turned his head until his cheek brushed Ethari’s and whispered, “No…”

Ethari felt a warm surge of affection thrill him. He grinned and spun Runaan out until they held on only by connected fingertips, twirling together in a misty beam of moonlight that poured into his backyard. Runaan’s hair flew wide, glowing under the Moon. His grace and skill made Ethari’s breath catch in his throat, and he couldn’t wait another moment to feel Runaan’s waist under his hands again. He reeled him back in and held him firmly, nuzzling against the side of his neck.

“Th-This isn’t part of the moondance…” Runaan protested breathlessly, even as he tipped his head, inviting more nibbles.

“Yes it is.” Ethari’s voice held a deep burr that rippled against Runaan’s skin.

“Am I doing it wrong, then?” Runaan breathed. His fingers dug into Ethari’s shoulders, unwilling to let him go.

Ethari raised his head and pressed a soft kiss against Runaan’s cheek before meeting his eyes. “Not at all, my love.”

A heated blush rose in Runaan’s cheeks. “I… I studied the dance thoroughly…”

Ethari slipped his arms around Runaan and began swaying in a slow circle, pressing slow kisses against the firm line of his jaw. “You’re very thorough in your mission prep,” he teased.

“I… it’s important to me… I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Runaan’s blush deepened.

Ethari paused and took the lithe assassin’s face in his big hands. “Shh, now, no talk of disappointment. You could never. But this _particular_ dance… it’s more fluid than the others. No book can possibly tell you how it really goes.”

Runaan’s white brows twitched in confusion.

 _Moon help me, he’s so gorgeous when he’s soft._ Ethari pressed another kiss to Runaan’s cheek and murmured, “Let me show you?”

Runaan trembled in the circle of his arms, but he nodded against Ethari’s kiss. “Please.”

Ethari took his hand and turned him until they faced the same way, holding it at chest height between them. “Sometimes the dance contains the steps to Moonlight Promenade,” he began, and Runaan lightly matched his intricate steps as they crossed the yard. Then he pulled Runaan back into one arm, snugging him tightly against him, and held him there while forming an arch out of their arms overhead. Runaan gasped at the close contact, and his turquoise eyes flickered to Ethari’s lips. “And other times,” Ethari continued with a smile, “it has Softshadow.”

Runaan’s tongue flicked out across his bottom lip. “H-How do you know… when to do which one?”

Ethari wanted to suck at that bottom lip, it was so plump and inviting. But Runaan had added different steps to their dance by asking his question, and Ethari meant to dance _with_ Runaan, not over him. “By reading your partner,” he said. “Do you know Moonspiral?”

Runaan’s eyes widened. “I’ve seen it done... at Lain and Tiadrin’s wedding.”

“Do you want to feel it?” Ethari teased. “I think you’ll like it.”

Runaan’s brows lifted, along with the corners of his mouth, and Ethari grinned.

Ethari snugged his hands tightly at Runaan’s waist. “Don’t worry. I won’t drop you.”

Runaan pressed his hands over Ethari’s. “I trust you.”

Ethari held Runaan firmly against him and began to spin, and Runaan lifted his feet off the ground, steadying himself at first with hands on Ethari’s shoulders. The world spun past them in a moonlit blur, and Runaan’s ponytail fluttered around them. Softly at first, then more urgently as Ethari sped up. Ethari raised his eyebrows invitingly, and Runaan took one last deep breath while meeting his eyes. Then he let his hands slip from Ethari’s shoulders and arched backward, putting his balance and safety entirely in Ethari’s hands. One leg slid up along Ethari’s and hooked tightly around the back of his waist, snugging them tightly. Ethari turned his groan into a helpless chuckle at what Runaan could so easily do to him.

Ethari’s hands firmed their grip as he spun Runaan around him. That long glorious hair fluttered madly, and Runaan tipped all the way back, closing his eyes and riding the spin, locked hip to hip with Ethari.

Ethari felt him laughing silently as he clutched Runaan’s waist. He slowed, lifting Runaan back up into a tight embrace, inhaling his joy, cradling him closely. “I told you you’d like it,” he murmured.

Slightly dizzy, Runaan held onto Ethari more tightly than he needed to. He left his leg snugged around Ethari’s waist, too. “I did.”

“Then we should definitely put that in our dance.”

“… _Our_ dance?”

Ethari kissed his jaw and chuckled. “Of course. Every one of these dances is different, depending on who’s dancing it. That’s what I meant when I said it was more fluid. This dance can change as often as we want it to. It can never be the same twice, or we can find a perfect pattern and use it forever.” His hands slid down to cup Runaan’s buttocks, pulling him tight against him.

Runaan’s blush was back. “You’ve done this dance before.”

“A time or two,” Ethari allowed.

“I won’t be able to match your skill, then.” Runaan’s lashes lowered, and he let his leg slip loose, stepping back.

Ethari let him go, but then he captured Runaan’s chin and tilted it up. “I have utter faith in your focus and attention, Runaan. You’ll be the one spinning me soon.” He flicked his eyebrows up with a flash of a smile.

Runaan set his hands at Ethari’s waist and squeezed. “I don’t know about that. You’re heavy.” A thread of humor lurked in his words despite his hesitant tone.

The assassin’s attempt to be light and teasing sent a surge of sweet affection through Ethari, and he pulled Runaan in for a deep kiss. “We can work up to it, then.”

Breathless, Runaan nodded against Ethari’s lips. “I’d like that. If you would.”

“With you? I’d like it very much,” Ethari replied. “I’d never ask you to dance any steps with me that made you uncomfortable, Runaan.” He pulled Runaan back into a swaying rhythm, shifting in step with him, never more than a couple inches apart, letting his hands dance along Runaan’s arms. “Is it hot out here?” he murmured. He grinned and tugged his crop top over his head, letting the soft moonlight limn the sharp lines of his sturdy physique as he tossed his shirt over his shoulder.

Runaan’s eyes didn’t know where to look first, hopping from Ethari’s built shoulders to the broad planes of his chest to the thick cables of his biceps. “It is _now_ …”

Ethari chuckled and gently drew Runaan closer, until the assassin’s soft green shirt pressed against Ethari’s bare chest. Runaan’s hands surged up Ethari’s muscular back, pressing, clinging, exploring, and Ethari arched against him in pleasure. “I think you know this step already,” he teased softly.

Runaan’s fingers traced around Ethari’s ribs. One hand pressed against Ethari’s side, feeling his quick breaths, and the other slipped between their chests, sliding over silky skin to feel Ethari’s heart thrumming. “It’s not like that. But I’m good with my hands.”

“Oh, we’re definitely putting that in the dance, then.” Ethari let one hand slip to Runaan’s waist and teased a finger beneath the fall of his shirt.

“Mmm,” Runaan hummed. “You seem good with shirts. Maybe you should be in charge of them.” His deft fingers released the closure that held his shirt closed on the right, and the green fabric fell away, revealing the soft lilac of Runaan’s sculpted chest.

“Oh, Moon, yes please,” Ethari blurted, unable to lift his eyes from Runaan’s glorious skin. The deep navy curves of new, secret marks over his heart were an extra treat that made Ethari bite the inside of his lip in delicious anticipation. _Is that the Moon rune? As if he weren’t hot enough already…_ He slid his hands against Runaan’s abs, rising softly across his chest with delicate, teasing fingers that drew breathless gasps from Runaan’s throat. Ethari’s fingers slid out toward Runaan’s shoulders, beneath his shirt, beginning to slip it off, revealing that glorious chest marking. Ethari couldn’t help but hum in delight at the sight of it.

As the fabric slid down Runaan’s biceps, he suddenly murmured, “Stop there.”

Ethari bunched the shirt in his hands, pinning Runaan’s arms gently behind him, pressing their bare chests together. Runaan was hot, flushed. His cheeks practically glowed. But his eyes sought Ethari’s.

“You like this step?” Ethari breathed, searching those molten turquoise eyes.

“It’s… doing something very nice to me…” Runaan confessed.

Ethari grinned and nibbled his way along Runaan’s jaw to his ear. “I’ll take it slow then. The dance is never set, Runaan. We can always change it.”

“Then…” Runaan breathed, “we’d better keep going. I need to learn so many steps.”

Ethari kissed him softly and met his eyes with a loving look. “And I need to learn them, too. With you.”

Runaan kissed him back eagerly, and their hearts thrummed against one another. “Keep dancing with me, Ethari.”

Ethari held Runaan against him and spun down until he sat with Runaan on his lap. He bent the lithe assassin back in his arms and tasted him thoroughly like the feast he was, drinking deep, slaking his thirst, drawing the softest of cries from Runaan’s lips, then filling him full and bringing him to breathless ecstasy again.

Runaan drowsed, after, in Ethari’s arms, lying rumpled like a spilled bolt of white silk. Before he drifted off, he traced a fingertip along Ethari’s cheek and kissed him once more. “Thank you, Ethari. I like this dance with you.”

Ethari’s heart could barely handle the sight of this sharp and focused assassin drifting off in his arms, letting Ethari see his softest and most vulnerable side. He pressed the gentlest of kisses against Runaan’s temple and held him close until dawn.

***

They danced eagerly and often, and Runaan learned steps he hadn’t even dreamed existed, in their moondance as well as the dance that followed it. He learned to lead, and both he and Ethari enjoyed the graceful, powerful steps he chose. But some part of his heart always seemed to hold back, and Ethari began to wonder if Runaan was truly feeling the same helpless adoration that he felt.

“Runaan…” Ethari began one night as he lay in his lover’s arms. Runaan had a mission in the morning, and the extra tension left Ethari unable to stand the suspense any longer, “…Do you like our moondance?”

“Mmhmm,” Runaan murmured sleepily. His voice rumbled against the ear Ethari pressed to his chest.

“Too many variations? Not enough? We can always change it again.”

“Mm’mm.”

Ethari bit his lip and held his breath. He’d taught Runaan what he knew, and then they’d learned much more together. They were equals, true partners, perfectly balanced. Except… Ethari couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“What is it? Ethari, you’re tense.”

Runaan and his fluency in body language—Ethari couldn’t hide a single thing from him. “I—”

Slowly, gently, Runaan rolled Ethari over onto his back and propped himself up on one elbow next to him. Long silken strands of white hair trailed across Runaan’s shoulders and pooled across Ethari’s chest. Runaan cupped Ethari’s cheek and turned his face toward him, trailing a soft thumb across his bottom lip. “Tell me.”

Ethari took a deep breath and reached for Runaan’s face, tracing its lines with gentle fingertips. “I… I love dancing with you, Runaan. In every way. Whether we get to the dance after the dance or not. I… I love _you_. I’ve been trying to tell you—to _show_ you—for weeks. But I’m not sure you can see it. Or… that you _want_ to… but it’s true. It’s true. I _love_ you.” His eyes prickled hot as he felt a soft, helpless smile spread across his face.

Runaan’s brows twitched, and his mouth opened, but he didn’t speak for a moment. “Ethari… I don’t know what to say…”

Ethari’s chest squeezed painfully. “You don’t have to say it back,” he blurted. “That’s not what I’m—”

Runaan’s finger shushed him. Ethari waited, wide-eyed, for Runaan to speak, since the assassin seemed to need a minute. When Runaan lifted his eyes to Ethari’s again, they glimmered with uncertainty. “You’ve done this before. I didn’t want to…” Maddeningly, Runaan trailed off.

“To _what_ , Runaan?” Ethari begged.

Runaan’s hand ghosted across Ethari’s smooth, dark skin and settled warmly over his heart. “I didn’t want to presume that I was special to you, any more than your other partners were.”

“You didn’t want to _presume_ —” Ethari spluttered softly. He clapped a hand atop Runaan’s, pressing it harder against his heart. “Listen to me, you stabby idiot. You stay right _here_.”

“Stay?”

“Stay,” Ethari said firmly.

A tiny smile lifted one corner of Runaan’s mouth. “I have a mission in the morning.”

Ethari’s eyes narrowed, and a fierce, fearless smile overtook him. His other hand sieved into Runaan’s hair and cupped the back of his neck, drawing him closer until he only needed to whisper to be heard. “There is nowhere you can run on this _planet_ , Runaan, where my love cannot find you. You’re already _here_.” He pressed against Runaan’s hand again. “So _stay_. Please. I want you to stay.”

Runaan’s breath shuddered, and his eyes dropped to their matched hands. “Ethari…” Gently, he threaded his fingers up through Ethari’s and rolled their hands aside, exposing Ethari’s heart. Then he leaned down, draped in white silk ribbons of loose hair, and pressed a kiss there against Ethari’s soft skin. He felt Ethari’s heart thrumming beneath his lips and let out an unsteady, ecstatic breath against his chest. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay.”


	9. we should just kiss (like real people do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Like Real People Do," by Hozier
> 
> Runaan has taken his first target and is enduring the ritual that follows, when an unexpected interruption changes the course of his life forever.
> 
> cw: death, murder, strangling, buried alive...
> 
> ...but also smooches! Happy Valentine's Day! Gosh if this isn't a very Moonshadow combination.

Runaan gritted his teeth and sucked in his next breath, slow and steady, trying to ignore the panicked ache in his lungs. The broad, soft petals of the graveblossom that hovered just above his face wouldn’t let him die—as long as he kept his breathing calm and even.

That was the lesson. Calm. Focus. Balance.

But the clammy soil of the Meadow of the Dead pressed against him, heavy and threatening. It sucked away the heat of his skin and compressed his chest, daring him to try to breathe, again and again. It wanted him dead. As dead as the young human guard Runaan had killed.

The human woman’s hands had left bruises on Runaan’s forearms as he desperately strangled the life out of her, his desperate attempt to prevent her from alerting the hilltop manor’s defenses to the assassins’ presence. The noises she’d tried to make just outside the walls had been mere vibrations against his palms. Angry, terrified, instinctual.

She had wanted to live.

Runaan hadn’t let her.

His last view of her had shown him the panicked tears in her eyes, her bared teeth. Her last sight in this world had been a wide-eyed young elf, horrified at his own actions but unrelenting nonetheless. She’d crossed over—to wherever humans went—and hadn’t heard the part where he bent over her and whispered a broken sob into her ear: “I’m sorry…”

Runaan’s team had survived the mission unscathed, and he’d lived to come home and endure the burying ritual.

It was his first.

He had known what to expect. Mirilel had made sure all of her new recruits watched the burying ritual beneath the darkness of the new Moon at least once. Runaan had meditated through the night beside Lain’s grave not just once, but three times. And Lain had risen each time when Mirilel dug him back up the next morning. Lain was always quiet the next day. Tiadrin tended to sharpen her sword more than was strictly necessary. The other assassins all dealt with their night in the ground differently. But they were dealing with it, Runaan could tell.

He’d braced for it all the way home. Kept stoic as Mirilel dug a shallow grave for him, as he lay down in its chill embrace, as she bent the graveblossom’s thick stem, settled its petals down around his face, and buried it with him.

And then, in the pressuring darkness, without even his arcanum to sustain him with promises of cycles and light and better days to come, Runaan had truly felt the desperate weight of what he had done. The weight of what he would have to do again.

He relived his mistake over and over. He had hesitated upon seeing the guard at the covered bridge, uncertain whether she had seen him yet. She didn’t seem to react. Perhaps if he just lurked in the bushes, she would turn and pass by…

And she had. She told her duty partner that she was going to patrol the far side of the bridge, and she began heading back toward the manor.

Runaan’s shoulders had slumped in relief. She hadn’t seen him, she was leaving. He wouldn’t have to take her after all. He slipped back into the trees to report to Mirilel.

But his squad leader had not seen the situation the same way he had. She’d immediately ordered him up into the tallest tree nearby to see if the guard was actually patrolling, or if she’d headed straight for the manor to report. Her flat, urgent tone of voice told Runaan which one she expected he’d find. It also told him that she thought he’d been a fool to fall for the human’s ruse.

In sudden alarm, Runaan had scrambled up the tree. The guard had been nowhere in sight. Without waiting to report back, he’d leaped from limb to limb in search of her, desperate to stop her from alerting their target’s manor defenses to the assassins’ presence.

He had caught up with her within shouting distance of the outer walls. After two of his arrows missed their mark—stupid, stupid, why hadn’t he practiced harder—he threw himself after her and silenced her with desperate, shaking hands.

How many mistakes had he made that night? Too many. He’d nearly gotten everyone killed because he’d been soft, uncertain, lazy. He deserved to get buried for the night, deserved to panic just like his target had.

He deserved to die, like she had. Mirilel’s mercy would come when she dug him up in the morning.

The realization seeped into his bones like ice water as he lay shivering with the soft, cool petals of the graveblossom sheltering his face from the dirt. The flower might have been a distant cousin of the Sunfire’s sunflowers, but it grew in moonlight with its flowers facing the earth, as if drawn to a different light from a different world. Moonshadows planted them among their graveyards, as beauty and as lamps for the spirits. But assassins used the large, downward-facing flowers as shelter during their burying ritual, because the blooms gave off fresh air in massive amounts. If not for the graveblossoms, the assassins enduring the new moon ritual of being buried alive after taking a life would, in fact, die.

And it would be a dark balance if they did. The ritual was a test of the soul.

Runaan wasn’t sure his soul was worth resurrecting. He’d been an utter fool, he’d let his team down, and he’d only just managed to make things right—at the cost of having to watch a human guard perish right under his hands.

_I’ll never forget that look in her eyes. Never, as long as I live._

_However long that turns out to be._

_I understand now how some assassins don’t care whether they live or die. When I die, this memory will, too. Until then, I must find a way to carry it._

Trapped beneath the earth in a grave dug specially for him, the young assassin felt his soul crack just a little. Tears burned his eyes in the sheltered space under the flower’s petals. They ran hot down past his ears.

_I’m sorry. I had to._

_I had to._

His empty apology served no purpose, though. The guard was gone. She couldn’t hear him.

_Maybe if I died, I could find her and tell her properly._

But Mirilel would dig him up soon, and then he’d have to walk and talk and train again. And there would be another mission. And then another burying ritual.

Runaan’s arms twitched hard against the earth of the grave, as if he could ward off such a future. But he couldn’t. He was a Moonshadow assassin. There had never been any such thing as an escape, not for him.

_When I would sit with Lain, I’d hear the buried assassins making sounds. Sad sounds… Perhaps it’s… part of the ritual… to…_

The rest of the sob that he’d been holding in since he’d taken the guard’s life slipped off his lips, followed by a soft keen that knotted his abdomen. His body tensed as he cried, trying co curl in on itself, resisting the earth’s flattening pressure, insisting that he was not, in fact, dead yet.

In the dark, in the grave, lost in guilt and shame and hopelessness, Runaan cried. For the guard he’d had to take, for himself, for all the future targets he knew he’d have to take as well. His sobs echoed softly inside the soft, thick petals of the graveblossom.

_I’m not sure I can do this._ The thought ricocheted around his head as he wept. He strained to remember the ritual, its rules set and unchangeable, to soothe his troubled heart. Mirilel had buried him. It was her duty as the one who ordered him to kill. She would dig him up, too, as the one who freed him and forgave him for the sins he’d had to commit for her. The one who freed the assassin from the grave would give him another chance at life.

He just needed to wait for dawn, and he could live again. Until then, perhaps it was alright if he was dead for a while. Dead, and very sad, where no one could see.

Slowly, Runaan began to let go of the idea of safety. Life and death were just one breath apart, anyway. He was less than an arm’s length below the surface, and yet he was not among the living anymore. Did it _really_ matter which side of the dirt he was on—

The grave soil moved, pressing atop him, then releasing. Runaan abruptly stopped his weeping in surprise. Then the pressure came again. The grave’s weight lightened, slowly, as if being lifted away one scoop at a time.

_Is it dawn already?_

Fingers scraped across his chest and lifted dirt away, then returned promptly, reaching, pressing. Runaan sucked in a few deep breaths, lifting the hand atop his shirt, proving he was still alive.

A muffled question rippled through the earth, and the hands began clearing more dirt away. His rescuer found one of Runaan’s arms and freed it. Instinctively, Runaan clutched one of those rescuing hands in gratitude and relief, and it squeezed back tightly.

Runaan felt a bandage around the hand he squeezed. He didn’t remember Mirilel having an injury on the mission. But he’d been mostly dead all night. Who knew what had happened in the meantime? All he knew for certain was that he wanted to live again. Whatever that took.

Finally, enough dirt was lifted free from him, and the hand found both of his and tugged hard, pulling Runaan up into a sitting position in his shallow grave. The remnants of the soil tumbled off him, and the graveblossom bobbed up and hovered over the grave like a dark spotlight.

Runaan shivered hard, feeling dirt clinging to his hair, his skin. Then he looked up in soft gratitude—

Mirilel hadn’t freed him, after all.

His savior was the young journeyman jeweler, Ethari. He’d given Runaan a teasing gift, a cute little mouse trinket, a couple of years ago. At least, Runaan had assumed Ethari was teasing him. It was always hard to tell with the smiling ones. Ethari was a bit silly, but there was no denying his musical skills, his grace during village dances, and the true skill in his talented hands. Ethari might have been teasing Runaan with the little mouse trinket, but Runaan had studied the little creation for hours, finding its little swirlies soothing and meditative, and now he treasured Ethari’s gift a little more than was strictly allowed.

Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that Ethari’s smiles were always so charming.

Those talented hands continued to clutch at Runaan’s as Ethari crouched beside the grave and looked down at him in deep concern.

With a start, Runaan realized it was nowhere near dawn.

The two teens stared at each other for a long, intense moment. Neither let go of the other’s hands.

Then, at the same moment, Ethari asked, “Are you all right?” as Runaan asked, “Does Mirilel know you’re here?” with the same level of urgent concern.

Another pause. More staring.

“Runaan…” Ethari began. His eyes darted around the Meadow of the Dead, then returned to Runaan’s.

Runaan closed his eyes and composed himself with a deep breath of pure night air. He realized he’d been squeezing Ethari’s hands tightly, so he loosened his grip. “It’s alright, Ethari. It’s just an assassin ritual.”

Ethari’s eyes glowed like low coals. “I know which ritual it is. But you…”

Runaan glanced up at him. “I what?”

Ethari’s eyes dipped to Runaan’s cheeks and back up. “You were… I heard you. I figured it was time for your ritual to be done, if you sounded… like that.”

Runaan sucked in a quiet breath. Ethari had been close enough to his grave that he’d heard him crying? “I’m not sure you should’ve dug me up.”

“I am.” Ethari let go of his hands and reached down, grasping Runaan by the waist and bodily hefting him out of the remaining loose dirt in the grave.

Runaan let out a quiet yelp and grasped Ethari’s shoulders for stability as the sturdy craftsman sat his rescue on the grass beside him.

“There you go. Now you’re all the way out. Being half dead doesn’t sound that nice. Especially during a new Moon,” Ethari murmured.

Runaan left one hand on Ethari’s warm shoulder, but he sighed in exasperation. Mirilel had a duty to free Runaan. Ethari didn’t. “Ethari, I’m grateful, but—”

“I’m not putting you _back_ , Runaan,” Ethari interrupted, looking scandalized. “I’m not an assassin. I’m just… I… I shouldn’t even be here, I know, but I had… I couldn’t just leave you crying in a grave!” Ethari’s shoulders heaved with emotion. “That’s wrong, to let someone suffer when you could help. Surely assassins believe the same thing.”

The chasm between assassin philosophy and softer Moonshadows, who were protected by the assassins’ blades, yawned before Runaan for a long moment before he could answer. “Hesitation is torture,” he allowed, not quite agreeing.

Ethari acted as if he had agreed, though, grinning. “See? You understand. I had no choice. I had to rescue you.”

“I wasn’t… I had a graveblossom. I wasn’t in danger.” Runaan glanced over at the broad blue flower that bobbed softly on its thick stem, petals still spread toward the ground as if it didn’t know what a sky was.

_The person who digs me up is the person who gives me another chance at life. That wasn’t Mirilel after all. For some reason, Moon only knows what, it was Ethari._ He turned back to the concerned elf at his side. “But… thank you. The ritual doesn’t say that Mirilel _has_ to be the one who frees me. The ritual isn’t complete yet, though, so perhaps I should just wait here for her…”

Ethari’s brown brows rose behind the pale shock of hair that swept across his forehead. “Oh, am I part of the ritual now? What should I do next?”

That was in no way what Runaan had said, but there was a tiny twinkle in the corner of Ethari’s eye which told the assassin that Ethari, once again, might not be entirely serious right now.

_Silly. He should have more respect for assassin traditions._

Runaan suppressed a sigh and decided to answer truthfully. Ethari had saved him, after all, and it was really nice to be above ground in the crisp night air. If the craftsman hadn’t dug him up, he’d still be sobbing into his graveblossom right now.

“There’s not much more to it. Mirilel usually offers her assassins some kind of life-affirming gesture when she pulls them from the ground, to make them feel, I don’t know, _alive_ I suppose.”

“Oh? Like what?” Ethari asked curiously.

“I’ve only seen that part three times,” Runaan said, uncomfortable with sharing secret assassin ritual specifics.

“I can’t help you finish the ritual unless you tell me how, Runaan,” Ethari teased gently. One hand found Runaan’s ponytail and tugged on it playfully, shaking a bit of dirt free.

Runaan took him seriously, though, because he was right. He nodded crisply. “No, of course. She usually offers, um, a hug. A welcoming hug back into the land of the living. The dead can’t hug, you see.”

“Well,” Ethari said lightly, “I’ve never gotten a hug from the dead, so you’re probably right about that. But what do you mean, ‘usually’? Does she give different gestures sometimes?”

Runaan blushed lightly in the dark, remembering how Mirilel had welcomed her wife back to the land of the living, with an urgent kiss and a clinging hug as if they’d been apart for far more than just one night. “S-sometimes,” he managed.

Ethari grinned at him. “I’m not sure I know you well enough to hug you, Runaan. Maybe I should try something else.”

Runaan gave him a judicious nod. “That’s sensible—”

The craftsman’s skilled fingers lifted Runaan’s chin, startling him into holding still. “How about a bluemoon kiss?” Ethari murmured.

“A… wh- but....” Runaan spluttered.

“You know,” Ethari continued smoothly, “because I’m only going to dig an assassin out of his grave once in a blue Moon. And nothing celebrates life like a blue Moon festival! It seems fitting to me, don’t you agree?” The craftsman’s last few words were directed to Runaan’s lips.

Runaan felt his body go hot, and he became intensely aware of the very edges of himself. Ethari’s fingertip beneath his chin was warm and strong. His voice was shadowed silk. He smelled of metal and wood, and Runaan could faintly feel his body heat. The night air was crisp and cool and full of soft chitters and croaks. Darkness hung thick around them, like a velvet curtain. Centuries of secrets—and several temporarily buried assassins—lay around them, dark, waiting. Jealous.

_This is how being alive feels_ , Runaan realized. _And I want it_. He met Ethari’s eyes and nodded.

Ethari smiled and leaned in. His lips brushed Runaan’s, warm and gentle, and the craftsman’s sharp scent filled his nose. All the while, Ethari’s finger held Runaan’s chin in place.

The assassin gasped quietly. He hadn’t expected kissing to be so… so…

Ethari pulled away and met his eyes with concern.

“I, good, ritual…” Runaan blurted, “that’s… mmhmm, good gesture…” Why did he sound so ridiculously breathless? Ethari was merely completing the ritual with a life-affirming gesture. He’d asked how, Runaan had explained, and Ethari was cooperatively complying. _I must still be feeling stress from the burying ritual. That must be it._

“Oh, no, Runaan,” Ethari murmured, “that wasn’t the bluemoon kiss. That was just a warmup to see how much you can handle. Everyone knows assassins need to be handled delicately when it comes to, uh, life-affirming gestures.” Was Ethari _smirking_? At a time like this?

“Wh- Well, I, ah…” Runaan stumbled around, trying not to admit that he’d never been kissed before, and did Ethari _have_ to keep grinning at him like that? He really wasn’t helping. “Th-the ritual needs to be…” he stammered.

“You sure?” Ethari asked, nudging Runaan with an elbow. “I’d hate to kill you so soon after resurrecting you.”

_Braggart_. Runaan felt a stubborn light flare in his own eyes. “I can take anything you care to dish out. Quit stalling and finish the ritual.”

One of Ethari’s brows shot up. A moment later, he took Runaan’s face in his hands and surged forward. Runaan gasped again, but Ethari’s mouth claimed it. His lips moved against Runaan’s, throwing jolts of sensation all the way down to Runaan’s toes. His fingers slid back into Runaan’s hair, which did very sudden and very enjoyable things to the poor inexperienced assassin. He could in no way help the eager noises that began bursting out of him, and his hands sought stability by clamping onto Ethari’s sturdy shoulders and making fists in his shirt.

A low rumble of pleasure vibrated out of Ethari’s chest, and Runaan felt it in his hands and against his lips. He wanted… he wanted… he wasn’t sure _what_ he wanted, but _boy_ did he want it. His breathing sped up like he was running through the trees, and he couldn’t seem to let go of Ethari’s shirt, and if they just happened to fall over and keep kissing for a while, would that really be a terrible thing—

_This is how being alive feels, too. And I feel so very, very alive. Hhnngh…_

Runaan paused, chest heaving, and opened his eyes, on the verge of asking for more. But in his very alive state, several thoughts came into sharp focus all at once.

The ritual was complete now. Runaan had remembered—and discovered—what it meant to be alive.

His future as an assassin had just been confirmed. He’d survived the burying ritual once. Which meant he could do it again. And again, every time he took a target.

And Ethari had tears in his lashes.

Runaan gently took Ethari’s cheeks in his hands, studying his face with sudden concern. “Ethari…?”

The craftsman looked lost for a moment as their passionate kiss ended. He met Runaan’s eyes for a moment and then looked away. Runaan was forcefully reminded of their once-in-a-blue-moon circumstances: he knew exactly why _he_ was in the Meadow of the Dead tonight. But he’d been too polite to ask why _Ethari_ was there.

Assassins used the meadow on new Moon nights for their own rituals, but there were other rituals known to Moonshadows as well. Runaan didn’t want to guess which one Ethari had been here to perform, and he didn’t want to ask. Not when it was suddenly and irrevocably clear to him that Ethari had needed to feel alive just as much as Runaan did.

“…Thank you,” Runaan finished. “That was an excellent way to complete my ritual. I, uhm, I feel very…” He glanced down at his lap, which was warmer than the rest of him. “…very rejuvenated. You knew exactly what to do. I’m impressed, and… and I’m grateful.”

“Grateful?” Ethari asked softly.

With soft inspiration, Runaan leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Ethari’s. he settled his hands on the young craftsman’s broad shoulders and let his eyes slide shut again. “Assassins deal in death,” he breathed. “But we need life just as much as anyone else. You, uhm, really helped me appreciate what being alive can mean. Even if you were just teasing me. So, thank you for that.”

Ethari merely nodded against Runaan’s forehead, as if he didn’t trust his voice just then.

_No teasing at all?_ Runaan knew something bad had happened, then, to drive Ethari into the graveyard that night. He had very few soft skills, and it took him a moment to figure out how to use one of them to fill the silence.

“Let me see your hand. Graveyard dirt isn’t the best thing for a fresh wound.”

In surprise, Ethari held out his injured hand. Runaan gently unwrapped its grubby bandage and found a sharp slice across the back of Ethari’s left hand.

The _back_ of his hand.

Runaan’s brows drew together sharply, and Ethari jerked his hand back. “It’s alright. I’ll get another bandage at home.”

“Let me help,” Runaan blurted. He offered Ethari a tentative smile. “I’m good with bandages.”

A bit of sass flared in Ethari’s eyes as he found familiar ground: teasing his overly serious friend. “You get hurt a lot, do you?”

The guard’s bruises flared hot and sore in Runaan’s consciousness, and he averted his eyes. His gaze landed on the fresh grave Ethari has just pulled him from. “I bandage other people a lot,” he corrected with patient exasperation. “It’s part of my training. So, let me help.”

“Alright. But we’ll have to be quiet so we don’t wake my parents.” After a second, Ethari grinned cheekily and winked at Runaan.

The assassin gave him a mock glare as his cheeks heated. “You never stop, do you?”

“Neither do you,” Ethari countered.

“I’ll stop when I’m—” Runaan interrupted the assassin phrase he was about to say. He glanced down at the empty grave Ethari had unearthed him from. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”

“Well,” Ethari countered, “I hope you never do. I hope I never have to dig you up again. But I will if I have to, just so you know. What else are friends for, if not to resurrect each other from the grave? Complete with life-affirming bluemoon smooches!” he added with a saucy eyebrow waggle.

Runaan blushed and snorted, entirely at a loss for how to respond to that, but deeply grateful for Ethari’s soft efforts on his behalf nonetheless. “Friends are also for helping patch each other up,” he finally managed.

Ethari’s ears twitched down for a moment. “Ah. Good point. Let’s get out of here. This place is full of the dead. And that’s definitely not us.” He offered Runaan a hand and pulled him to his feet. After a couple of minutes of working little dirt clods out of Runaan’s hair— “So you don’t leave any evidence on my mother’s kitchen floor” —Ethari led Runaan back through the trees to his home.

Pleased with himself for helping Ethari find his footing again, even if it was at his own expense, the assassin followed his friend to a cozy, lace-topped bungalow nestled beneath a spreading life oak and surrounded by melodaisies that cooed a sleepy lullaby.

Runaan paused as the first flower went silent at his approach, but Ethari stroked the top of its petal, and it resumed its humming. He raised a dubious eyebrow at the unconventional security measure, but Ethari just winked at him.

Once they’d slipped inside the back door and settled on a pair of soft mushroom-top stools, Runaan very quietly bandaged Ethari’s hand for him, applying a generous layer of Sun’s Tears salve first. He was pleased to see that the crafting household was properly supplied for minor injuries, and he did his meticulous best to show off his medical skills accordingly.

He tied off the last bit of bandaging and tucked the ends in neatly. “Keep this one clean,” he whispered. “No more burying things in the Meadow of the Dead until it’s healed. Assassin’s orders.”

Ethari glanced up from his bandage, wearing a vulnerable look.

“Don’t worry,” Runaan reassured him. “It will heal up just fine.”

Ethari looked down at Runaan’s handiwork and traced a finger atop the last wrap. Slowly, he nodded. “I hope it does.”

“Favor your left hand while you work for a few days,” Runaan advised. “It deserves time to recover.” He clasped Ethari’s bandaged hand lightly, hoping the gesture was reassuring.

Ethari looked aghast for a moment, and he looked away again, ears drooping.

In sudden concern, Runaan put a hand on the craftsman’s shoulders. “It can’t be as bad as all that,” he murmured softly. “No one buried _you_ in the meadow over it.”

“…No,” Ethari managed. “No, they didn’t. I suppose you’d know about that stuff better than anyone, wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” Runaan agreed, mostly sure that they were both right about the same thing, even though they hadn’t discussed it.

Ethari’s ears perked a bit. “Thank you, Runaan. That helps.”

Runaan nodded crisply and held Ethari’s gaze with a tiny smile. “I should go. Mirilel will want a full explanation of why in the Moon’s name I’m out of my grave before dawn.”

“Full explanation, huh? How full?” Ethari asked with a teasing lilt.

Runaan’s cheeks heated again at the fresh memory of his friend’s passionate welcome back to the land of the living. “I… You fulfilled the ritual’s requirements. I hadn’t planned on telling her exactly how. Do you think I should?”

Ethari stared at him a moment too long before breaking into soft snorts. “I guess not, Runaan. Assassin secrets and all, right? Not to worry. I won’t tell anyone, either. What happens in the Meadow of the Dead stays in the Meadow of the Dead.”

Runaan turned Ethari’s hand and studied the fresh bandage, and whatever secrets it hinted at. Ethari had been in the graveyard on a new Moon night, burying his own secrets. He was just as motivated to keep Runaan’s secret as he was his own. Wanting to reciprocate that sentiment, Runaan quickly lifted Ethari’s bandaged hand to his lips and pressed a quick kiss there. Then, before Ethari could react, Runaan spun and slipped out into the night, feeling his cheeks heat all over again.

The faintest light of pre-dawn found Runaan meditating in dramatic fashion, perched on Mirilel’s meditation stump. He heard her feet pause softly in the back doorway, and he waited, letting her take in the sight of him with his back to her.

A moment later, her hand briefly lifted his ponytail and let it drop. She’d seen the dirt smudges that still clung to it. Then her fingers secured his chin and lifted his face for examination. He opened his eyes and let her see what she wanted.

Her gaze lingered on his cheeks and his mouth, and one of her black brows shot up in surprise. With a sudden flush, Runaan knew that she could somehow read his night’s story right there on his face.

His blush caused her to smile smugly, but her only comment was, “I see you’ve been properly welcomed back with the living, Runaan. You may go. Light duties only today.”

Runaan obediently began a light training routine with the other assassins, but by mid-afternoon, the first tragic gossip reached Runaan’s ears. Normally, he paid romantic tragedies no mind, but Tiadrin and Lain were the ones murmuring about it in the training yard. Runaan slowed his whetstone so he could hear their voices over its oiled grind.

“They both loved her,” Tiadrin said, while she sat with Lain and worked on armor repairs.

“Enough to duel over her?” Lain asked softly.

“You saying you wouldn’t stab a bitch over me, my darling?” Tiadrin quipped.

“Ohh, proper _real_ love, then,” Lain blurted. “Gifts and all?”

“Gifts and all,” Tiadrin agreed. “ _He_ brought her a courting gift, and _she_ brought her a courting gift. On the same day. They _challenged_ each other at her very doorstep.”

Lain’s shocked silence told Runaan that the elves in question hadn’t even been assassins. “And then they…?”

“Yup. It was messy. They have no idea what they’re doing. It wasn’t even supposed to be a duel to the death.”

“Moon and shadow,” Lain swore under his breath.

“The surviving duelist and the intended aren’t doing well. They’re both very distraught. Needless to say…”

“Needless to say, what?” Lain prompted innocently.

Tiadrin sighed. “Needless to say, there’s serious talk of ghosting now. But need _ful_ to say for your sake, sweet cheeks, they probably won’t ever court now, even if ghosting is dismissed . If they did, their relationship would forever be marred by tragedy.”

“That’s no way to start a relationship,” Lain mused sadly. “Love should start on a good note.”

“You’re so right, my clever man,” Tiadrin praised.

Listening intently, Runaan felt a knot of confusion in his gut.

“And then there’s the real mystery,” Tiadrin added, in a slightly louder tone.

“Mystery?” Lain asked. “What mystery?”

“Well,” Tiadrin said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial murmur, “the courting gifts. They’ve gone missing.”

“Did someone steal them?” Lain blurted. “That’s so rude. And, they’re kind of cursed now… Who would want them?”

“My moonberries are on the poor craftsman who made them,” Tiadrin said slowly. “Rumor has it that both suitors approached the same journeyman, hoping to trade exposure of their work for a positive courtship and goodwill. And whoever it was must’ve felt they couldn’t go wrong if they bet on both sides, hoping to get their work noticed either way. But no one could’ve predicted this.”

“Not even you?” Lain asked in a light tone.

Tiadrin’s shoulders stiffened and then slumped. “No, not even me.”

“Oh, Moon help me, that poor craftsman must feel terrible,” Lain said commiseratingly.

Runaan barely heard him. His ears were atingle, and his mind’s eye was full of last night. He was suddenly pretty certain what Ethari had wished to bury in the Meadow of the Dead last night. His instincts about Ethari’s injury being self-inflicted made more sense now, too. The little trinkets Ethari loved to make for his friends showed his skill and creativity. Runaan could understand someone asking him to craft a courting gift for their intended. If they were into such things. Which Runaan pretended he wasn’t. To be asked to craft something not once, but twice? Perhaps Ethari had let eagerness and pride sway his big soft heart.

Ethari couldn’t have foreseen the terrible timing and disastrous outcome of such a thing, though. He would have been horrified, ashamed, guilty… afraid. If he _had_ taken the trinkets back somehow, if he _had_ buried them and all they represented in the Meadow of the Dead last night… then it was Runaan’s duty as his grateful friend to keep that secret to himself, forever.

There was serious talk of ghosting, after all. Ethari belonged in the Silvergrove, where he could be happy and creative, where he could perhaps welcome Runaan back to the land of the living again… if needed… Runaan’s cheeks flushed with confused heat.

“I suppose we’ll never know what really happened, though,” Tiadrin said, shifting her attention back to her work. “It’s a tragedy, and I’m very sorry for everyone involved. But we all have to find our way forward somehow.”

“Life goes on,” Lain said soberly.

“Right, Runaan?” Tiadrin asked loudly.

Runaan twitched, and his whetstone, which had long since silenced its rough melody, skittered across his blade. “What?” he blurted.

“Mmhmm, never mind,” Tiadrin said. Her tone held a light grin, though.

Several days passed, and Runaan fell back into his usual training routine, finding rhythm and support among the familiar. But a part of his mind kept a lookout for the soft craftsman who had pulled him from the earth. Then he caught sight of Ethari in the village market. The young craftsman looked a little down, a little lost, far from his usual cheery self. As if a certain weight were will burdening his broad shoulders.

That wasn’t right. Ethari was The Cheerful One.

Runaan angled around a few corners until he casually came across Ethari near a gemstone exchange stall. He tucked his nervous hands behind his back and smiled. “How are you, Ethari?”

Ethari’s face lit with a smile. “Runaan, hi. I’m alright.” His gaze slid away.

_No, you’re not._ A sudden, wild impulse seized Runaan, and he didn’t have the wisdom to fight it. He seized Ethari’s hand and towed him behind a nearby cluster of slender mulberry bushes, until their leafy spread obscured them from the market’s elves.

“Aah… Runaan…?”

Runaan turned to face Ethari, feeling his chest heaving, his pulse pounding behind his eyes. His skin was tingling at the edges again.

_Alive. I’m alive. I want Ethari to feel the way he made me feel._

He took Ethari’s other hand too and faced him. After a few nervous, deep breaths while Ethari looked at him in curious puzzlement, Runaan squeezed his hands and murmured, “I won’t ask. I won’t ask you. It doesn’t matter. But…”

Ethari’s eyes widened sharply, and a glimmer of fear flared in them.

Runaan tightened his grip and stepped closer, gently shaking his head. “No… Ethari, you helped me. You had no obligation… but you did it anyway. I won’t forget that. And I… I’d like to…” He lowered his gaze to Ethari’s mouth and bit his own lip in gentle anticipation.

Ethari’s eyes widened further as he belatedly grasped Runaan’s intent. He tried to let go of Runaan’s hands and made soft sounds of demurring. “You… you don’t need to return a thing like that, Runaan. I never meant to make you beholden to me.”

“I want to, though. If… if it will help…?” Runaan murmured, suddenly uncertain.

Ethari froze, stunned, and his sunset eyes locked onto Runaan’s turquoise ones. His face blazed with understanding, with hope, with a dozen soft things Runaan couldn’t name. Then he smiled shyly and nodded. “Yeah. It’ll help.”

Runaan felt a little taller as he stepped forward again and leaned his forehead against Ethari’s. “Alright then. Hold still. I’m new at this.” He shifted softly, licked his lips, pulled in a tiny breath and held it. And then he eased forward and pressed his lips against Ethari’s.

They were warm and soft, as they had been in the graveyard. Ethari held still, uncertain, and Runaan felt a tiny tremble from their contact. He lifted one hand to cup Ethari’s cheek, catching the back of his neck with the end of a single finger and pulling him further into the kiss, and he was rewarded by a soft gasp. Ethari’s hand tightened around Runaan’s, too.

Runaan felt a thrill shoot up his spine. _I can do soft things, sometimes_. He was shy about being quite as enthusiastic as Ethari had been with his kiss, but he gave Ethari’s bottom lip a tiny nibble and sucked on it for a moment before releasing it with a soft pop.

When he looked up to see how his little gift had been received, Ethari was staring at him with starry eyes and a broad grin. “I thought you hadn’t kissed anyone before, Runaan. Where did you learn that trick?” he asked, slightly breathless.

Runaan ducked his head to hide a light blush and a reminiscent smile. Tiadrin’s secrets were her own, and he wasn’t about to tattle on her and Lain, even to Ethari. “What happens in the Meadow of the Dead stays in the Meadow of the Dead.”

Ethari chuckled. “Fair enough.” He blew out a small breath as if calming himself back down. “Well, that really worked. Thank you.” He squeezed Runaan’s hands tightly and gazed meaningfully into his eyes. “ _Thank_ you,” he repeated.

Runaan read the turmoil behind his gratitude and felt a sharp pang stab his heart. Assassins were supposed to carry such burdens, and they were supposed to protect others from ever needing to. The fact that their lives could get messy enough to blur that burden, that responsibility, troubled him. Ethari didn’t deserve to carry the guilt of what his actions had unintentionally wrought.

“You deserve peace in your heart,” Runaan blurted. “Shadows don’t suit you.”

“Well,” Ethari said lightly, “the next time I’m feeling shadowy, I’ll know where to come, then!”

Runaan blinked and started to reassess a dozen hidden meanings in everything they’d every said.

Ethari burst into soft laughter and pressed a quick smooch against Runaan’s cheek, squeezing his waist lightly with strong hands. “You’re so fun to tease, Runaan. Please never let me stop.”

Runaan looked into Ethari’s big bright eyes, felt the warmth of his hands at his waist and the low burr of his voice in his ears, and he helplessly replied, “Alright.”

Delight sparkled in Ethari’s gaze, and he chuckled. “You’re the best assassin I know, and I hope we know each other a very long time.”

Something deep and gleaming began to rise from the dark and shadowed depths of Runaan’s soul. He had no idea what it was, but as he gazed into Ethari’s eyes, he wanted nothing more—nothing in the wide, wide world—than to find out what it was. It didn’t feel very assassiny. And for the first time in his life, Runaan didn’t care. It was a secret he would have to hold close to his heart forever, it was so un-Moonshadow. But he couldn’t imagine ever burying it in the meadow and walking away from it.

“I’ll do my best to come home safe, then,” he promised, “so you can keep teasing me.”

Ethari chuckled and winked at him. “Then I’ll find you in the meadow every time.”

“Wh- _Every_ time?” Runaan stammered, surprised.

“Runaan, you and I have both been to the Meadow of the Dead now, but we deserve to feel alive just like everyone else. Don’t we?”

“I… Yes…” Runaan could only think of what Ethari deserved, but he was very sure Ethari deserved to feel alive.

Ethari cupped his cheek and stared into his eyes. “Then I will _find_ you. In the _meadow_. Every _time_. And I’ll kiss you back to life. Every time. Because that’s what living people do.”

“They kiss?” Runaan blurted, feeling his cheeks heat again.

Ethari’s lips were on his, soft and insistent, pushing Runaan back a step. His hands rose to cling to Ethari’s arms, and Ethari pulled him closer, sliding one hand up under Runaan’s thick hair to cup the back of his neck, leaving cool fingerprints on his skin. Runaan gasped softly against Ethari’s mouth, and Ethari’s low chuckle shivered against his lips.

Ethari pulled back and winked again. “Yes, Runaan. They kiss.”

Runaan’s chest heaved wildly, and he left one hand on Ethari’s upper arm for stability as he waited for the world to right itself. His gaze clung to Ethari’s, tumultuous and chaotic. Very un-assassiny thoughts hammered inside his head, and he wrestled with them for a wild and breathless moment before he found a shred of control again.

He took a long, calming breath. “Then,” he said softly, “I look forward to seeing you in the meadow again. Life after death is a very Moonshadow gift indeed.”

Somehow, that was exactly the right thing to say. Sudden tears sparkled in the corners of Ethari’s eyes, and his face lit like the Moon itself. “I only ever want my gifts to bring good things,” Ethari murmured. “Thank you, Runaan.”

“No, Ethari, thank _you_.”

Ethari snickered. “No, _you_!”

Runaan let out an exasperated noise, but it only made Ethari laugh harder. He smiled at his friend’s enjoyment, though. And at his own small success. Ethari was his guide now, for living, and Runaan intended to pay close attention to him, for as long as it took to learn how to live the way he did. And if that meant kissing each other back from the edge of death, then so much the better.

_We’re in this together. For as long as it takes._

The thought warmed every dark place in Runaan’s heart.

“Do you want to get some moonberry surprise with me?” he asked softly.


End file.
